Name: Quiet Relics: The Watcher
Rating: 5 (1 reviews)
Author: Quiet_Relics

It was the sort of rain that made the shop feel warmer.

Not a storm. No thunder, no lightning—only heavy, steady rain that had soaked the street black beneath the lamps. Water ran from every awning and pooled along the curb. Inside, the fire was low, the lamps were dim, and the old shop was warm enough to make a man forget the weather.

The shopkeeper had not meant to fall asleep.

He had only sat down behind the counter to rest his eyes while listening to the rain.

The bell above the door woke him.

A man stood just inside the entrance, water running from his long dark coat and gathering beneath his boots. He was dressed for weather like this: high collar, broad hat, heavy gloves. He looked like a man who had expected to spend a long time in it.

Still groggy, the shopkeeper rubbed his eyes.

"Evening."

The stranger nodded.

His hat brim, collar, and the poor light hid most of his face. The shopkeeper tried to get a better look, but somehow the man's features always remained where the shadows were thickest.

"I need to leave something with you," the stranger said.

From inside his coat he withdrew a pocket watch.

He held it a moment too long.

"I cannot carry it anymore."

"Broken?"

"No."

Then, quieter, "That is the problem."

He set the watch on the counter, keeping two fingers against its case.

"I know whose eyes those are."

The shopkeeper looked down.

"There was a time when looking at them made me happy," the man continued. "Now they only bring sorrow. And regret."

His voice had gone almost distant.

His fingers left the watch.

Some trades came with stories. Some came with warnings. He had learned not to demand either.

The stranger glanced toward the rain.

"They see things coming."

"What kind of things?"

"Weather. Change. Perhaps trouble. I never understood all of it."

He looked back at the watch.

"It feels the person carrying it. Their pulse. Their restlessness. Their exhaustion. It feels the world around them too. The eyes change. The lids grow heavy. Sometimes they look about as though they noticed something before you did."

"And you know who they belonged to?"

The man's shoulders tightened.

"I know enough."

"I want to go somewhere deep," he continued. "Underground. Mines, tunnels—somewhere with stone between me and the sky. I hear there are contracts if a man is willing to work far below."

The shopkeeper yawned before he could stop himself.

"Forgive me."

The shopkeeper turned toward the shelves.

"I may have something better suited to where you're going."

He returned carrying an old watch of brass and dark metal.

The Great Engineer.

The stranger took it carefully.

"What does it do?"

"Go to the mines," said the shopkeeper. "Once you're down there, the ones beneath the mountain can explain it better than I can."

"Will it help?"

The shopkeeper smiled.

"It will give you an advantage."

That was enough.

The stranger thanked him, raised his collar, and stepped back into the rain.

The bell rang once.

Then he was gone.

Only after the door closed did the shopkeeper look again at the pocket watch.

He picked it up. The case was cold.

He opened it.

Two eyes looked back at him.

They blinked.

Then both turned toward the door through which the stranger had disappeared.

The shopkeeper nearly dropped it.

He stood there studying them, unsure whether they were living eyes, some impossible mechanism made to resemble them, or something stranger. He could not tell whether they truly saw him.

But they moved.

They blinked.

And when he shifted to one side, they seemed to notice.

The shopkeeper looked around the warm little room.

"If you've got eyes," he murmured, "I suppose you ought to have something worth looking at."

He placed the watch on a shelf facing the front door, where it could see the customers, the rain beyond the glass, and most of the shop.

There it remained.

Watching.

Waiting.

Until someone came to carry those eyes away again.