Name: Quiet Relics: The Wandering Horologist
Author: Quiet_Relics

“Come closer. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

The shopkeeper lifted an ornate timepiece from its stand and placed it before you. Ivory rings framed a face of aged metal, with a fine moustache curling beneath two watchful eyes.

“This is the Horologist.”

The eyes turned toward you.

Then the face faded into darkness.

The shopkeeper waited.

“He has been here rather longer than you. Apparently that entitles him to certain liberties.”

He stirred the timepiece awake. Colour returned to its eyes, and the rings resumed their passage.

“If you watch closely, you’ll see—”

It went dark again.

The shopkeeper lowered his spectacles.

“Yes. Very impressive. Now perhaps we might let our guest see you.”

He turned the case slightly and pressed a small button on its side twice.

Something clicked deep within the mechanism. The ivory rings began moving with a smoother, steady motion. The eyes opened, glanced toward the shopkeeper, then settled on you.

“There. A different arrangement of the workings. His usual manner is suited to a passing glance at the hour. This gives him a little more freedom to move—and us a little longer to make his acquaintance.”

He returned the Horologist to its stand.

“Now. Where were we?”

For a moment, he watched the eyes.

“An elderly craftsman brought him here. His wife had visited before him, and he arrived carrying her compass and a parcel wrapped with considerable care. When he saw the Watcher on that shelf, he smiled.”

The shopkeeper nodded toward another face among the relics.

“I think he was relieved that this one would have company.”

He drew a worn notebook from beneath the counter.

“His teacher had entrusted him with the Horologist. Along with a story.”

Long ago, a king who had taken his throne by force commissioned clocks fitted with the eyes of those who opposed him.

“He wanted them to watch him enjoy the years he had denied them.”

The horologist who maintained the royal clock refused.

By the following morning, his wife had disappeared.

“He never found her. But the king found another craftsman, and the palace filled with clocks.”

The Horologist’s gaze moved briefly toward the shelf.

“When the king fell, his successor spared them. Some went home to their families. Others were sold or stolen. Eventually, people began copying their moving eyes, and the originals became difficult to recognize.”

The shopkeeper opened the notebook near its end.

“The horologist searched until he could scarcely hold his tools. Then he returned to his workshop and made one final piece.”

He turned the book so you could read.

My hands will not serve much longer. My eyes are sound.

There are places I have not looked.

You glanced from the page to the face on the stand.

“Yes,” the shopkeeper said quietly. “That was my thought as well.”

The Horologist looked back at you.

“I cannot tell you whether he succeeded. The man who brought him couldn’t either. But he had kept him for nearly fifty years, and said he had never stopped studying the people who passed.”

“Looking for her?”

The shopkeeper nodded.

“He believed he would know her eyes.”

For a while, you watched the rings move. A little colour shifted within the Horologist’s irises. His gaze wandered toward the doorway, then returned.

“The old man asked for nothing in exchange. Only that I put him where he could see who came in.”

The shopkeeper closed the notebook.

“So I did.”

You leaned closer. This time, the face remained in view.

“There,” the shopkeeper murmured. “Much better.”

He stepped aside, leaving you and the Horologist to regard one another.

“Take your time. I think he would appreciate the same courtesy.”