If you weren’t a local, the shop might strike you as more than a little odd. The locals, shall we say, were used to it. It was all paneled in dark wood, and had a permanently musty smell about it, with a suggestion of cozy warmth, of snuggling up in your favorite chair during an early summer rain—the kind that always leaves you feeling that it had never rained at all.
The patrons fit the shop. They were the kind of men, and occasional women, who, when they waved to you over the rim of a steaming coffee cup, gave an impression of great wisdom buried beneath the layers of weathered skin and smile lines. They were old, no doubt, but certainly not frail; they were old in the sense of having lived many years, and profited from every minute.
The shopkeeper was unique, even among the rest of them. Like everyone’s favorite Grandpa, his eyes always held a twinkle or a knowing grin, and he took in the world as eagerly as a young child. Yet, beneath the jolly exterior, there was a hint of deep sadness, of cutting regret. Of a lesson learned too late. For this reason, and others, they called him the Clockmaker.
When a man walked into the shop early one blustery afternoon, the Clockmaker was pleasantly surprised. The business had been declining, recently, it seemed no one wanted to take the responsibility anymore. Arising slowly--his old bones were weary,--from lovingly tending a clear, crystalline globe, the Clockmaker nodded at the visitor. “May I interest you?”
The man smiled, chuckling softly in his deep, rumbling voice. “Yes, yes, I think you may.” Striding confidently over to the shelves, he gently lifted one of the spheres and held it expertly up to the dim light, cradling it in both hands. Turning it this way and that, he examined the contents, then slowly shook his head, and placed it back on the shelf, picking up another one.
After the visitor had examined the last of nearly one hundred globes in the shop, the Clockmaker looked at him expectantly. The man shook his head in regret. “These… were not exactly what I was looking for. Do you have any others?” He was looking at the shopkeeper intently, as if he already knew the answer.
The Clockmaker was about to say no, when something made him stop. There was something about the man’s manner… “Yes, yes I do.” He disappeared into the back of the shop, and appeared a moment later, carrying another globe.
This one was covered in dust, entirely unlike the others, all of which were immaculate. The Clockmaker lovingly brushed the dust off its surface, then handed it gently to the other man. When he lifted it up to the light, the visitor gasped; both in awe, and in horror.
At first glance, the globe floating within the glass appeared to be white. When one looked closer, however, it became clear that the white was merely a mist obscuring the true surface, a mix of green and blue. The craftsmanship was remarkable, every detail was visible. That was the awe. And the horror.
The surface was covered with vast gashes, exposing the innards of the sphere. It was covered with plague, a rash of sooty gray rapidly spreading over its surface. While many beauties were still visible, they made the destruction even more stark. The disease consuming the once glorious creation was shown in plain relief.
“What is this?” the visitor asked the shopkeeper in clear anger.
“It was… an experiment,” the Clockmaker replied, lowering his head in sorrow. “We were always so meddlesome,” he whispered softly, looking up again into the eyes of the visitor. “I—I just wanted to see if they could survive on their own.” Gesturing tiredly at the sphere in the man’s hands, he continued, “I suppose the experiment is over, now.”
“I will take it, of course,” the visitor told the Clockmaker. The Clockmaker sighed in relief, and sat back in his chair. He was getting old, so old…The man began to take out his wallet, but the Clockmaker waved his hand. “Just take it, go,” The visitor nodded solemnly, inclined his head in respect to the shopkeeper, and headed towards the door.
As the man was about to leave, the Clockmaker stopped him. “W-what is your name?” the old man asked. The visitor simply looked at him, chuckled, and left the shop. The Clockmaker nodded, and smiled. Things were going to change.
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