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Rated: E · Book · Fantasy · #1760245
A young man in a clockwork city finds himself at the center of everything he never knew.
Visceral Power

By IndignantMe

Chapter One


         

        In the back of the old shop, among the cluttered shelves, dust fought for space with the remains of countless tinkered things. There was no sign outside the shop anymore. It had long been torn down and the windows boarded up. The simple wood door sealed and a  placard on the building stated, "Reclaimed Property of the City of Whistlespring." The shop itself remained the same as the day it was sealed, frozen in time while the city hissed on.

         Six years had passed for the shop and it had simply been forgotten among the rest of the sprawling steam pipes and narrow streets.

         Far from the shop, at the center of the city,  a massive gold and silver clock reached up into the sky.  In the past, the Springheels served the people by keeping the peace for the clockwork city. Great stories were still told of noble men and women who wore the position with pride. Great deeds done in the name of the people, for peace. They were just stories now. Now it serves as the home of both the senate and its controlled military force, known as the Springheels.

         Progress had changed the face of peace.

                   

         The sun had fallen over the edge of the city walls and the street lamps coughed themselves to life. Steam hissed through the pipes below the cobblestone streets and rattled up the rusted posts to the light boxes. Inside the glass boxes, a carefully etched crystal flickered brightly casting countless shadows in the streets.

         Young Johnathan Shepard sat on the crumbling edge of the dilapidated building watching the lights around the city flicker. He took a moment to check the tool belt that hung around his waist. Hidden in the clasps of the old worn patchwork belt was a fist full of wrenches, a full set of pin tumblers, several coils of wire, an assortment of small cogs for replacement parts and countless other things one would need to tinker with. Each pouch held exactly what he knew it did. Nothing was ever out of place.

         His one constant in the unsure life of the city.

         Johnathan was proud of the tool belt. It had taken him years to collect the things he had and each one he kept carefully tucked away. Living a life in the outer most district of the city had taught him to survive, and one could survive well with the right tools.

         Tonight he had a plan.

         

         Johnathan waited on the rooftop till well after dark. He wanted to wait for the first night patrol to  pass and avoid being seen by anyone. When the streets grew empty it took him little time to scurry down the building. Quietly he moved down the back alleys among the shadows of the city, twisting his way towards the object of his nervousness.

         City property was strictly off limits even this far into the outer districts. Springheels did well to stay out of the affairs of the common people but violation of the law was death. The law stated, all who violated city property were to be brought to the clock-tower for judgment. Johnathan had no intention on seeing if death was better than life in the outer district.          

         His target tonight was an old building boarded up by the city some years ago.

         Johnathan had no idea what was inside, but being a city reclaimed building insured that once inside, no one would dare to bother him. He could hide for years inside as long as he was never seen entering or leaving the building. The senate had better things to do than worry about useless shops and the building would just decay with the rest of the city.

         "With a little luck", he thought. "I might be able to find something worth selling for food."

         Half the night had passed by the time he finally climbed the edge of a one story building in sight of the shop. It had taken him longer than he had expected thanks to a dispute outside one of the ram-shack pubs. Johnathan had crouched behind a broken steam bike frame while the two men sorted out the argument with their fists. Both men had the look of someone Johnathan had no intention of disturbing.

         At sixteen, he was the very image of malnourishment and youth. It didn't help that his clothes were scavenged from here and there. Thankfully his tool belt kept the worn coveralls from pooling at his feet. Johnathan patted the pouches around his waist feeling their familiar weight with satisfaction and comfort.

         

         Inside the shop mice scattered for the walls at something unfamiliar to them. A creaking sound of a single wide board being pulled free. A brief moment of silence broken by the clicking of tools at a lock. Safe in the walls the mice sat silently listening to a muffled grumble.

         Johnathan smiled triumphantly as the lock of the door abdicated to his tools and clicked open. So far everything had gone well and even the nerves of his stomach started to settle. Just a few more moments and he would be inside, out of sight and safe.

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