The Clock People

by Mark Roland Langdale

  ‘There you are, my little beauty, how would you like to join my collection?’ the thief laughed as he gazed lovingly at Cole’s Compendium then produced his own priceless gold fob watch, his lucky charm, to compare the two. The time was eleven thirty. He felt he had all the time in the world. It was as if time had stopped along with everybody else in London. In his mind’s eye the thief could see London as a giant model village, a village he watched over, the giant who ruled his own kingdom and in this kingdom he was Father Time. The thief might have been a crook but he was no idiot. He’d had a replica of the watch made by a jeweller who often fenced his stolen items to crooks who haunted the seedy underbelly of Old London Town. The last thing Jack wanted was to break the glass, so he took out a skeleton key and skillfully picked the lock. A pickpocket he may have been but he was one of the best. The only reason he lived in a shack was because he was a gambler and an unlucky one at that!

  The thief coolly picked the watch out of the glass cabinet and replaced it with the fake before relocking the cabinet. It was the most beautiful piece he had ever laid eyes upon and ever held for that matter. For a brief moment the timepiece held him spellbound. Maybe this was the timepiece’s protection – that anyone who held it would become so spellbound by its beauty they would not be able to move, being caught in the act by the constables before they even knew what was going on.

  Quickly the thief slipped the watch into his pocket as he managed to break the spell he was under. ‘This is all too easy, it’s as if they are asking for it to be stolen. Perhaps they want it to be stolen, perhaps this is an insurance scam, perhaps this is a fake?’ grunted the thief stopping dead in his tracks. Fake or not he wasn’t about to stop and study the watch. He would give it to his watchmaker friend who would scrutinise it under a microscope or a large watchmaker’s magnifying glass. This man would tell him if his daring-do had all been worthwhile or if he had been wasting his valuable time. Wasting his time – that was funny, although it wouldn’t be if it was a fake!

  The thief stole away into the night with his ill-gotten gains, laughing all the way to the bank. In truth the bank was the last place he wanted to go. He certainly had no intention of breaking into the Bank of England, otherwise the next stop would be the Clink! Lady Luck may have been on his side but he wasn’t about to put all his trust in that capricious lady and even the power of his lucky charm may have its limits. What the thief did not know, but was about to find out, was that the limits of this timepiece were more extraordinary than he could ever have possibly imagined in his wildest dreams.

  ‘London looks as if she is draped in all her very best and most expensive finery and jewels tonight. This really is the finest city in the world for a jewel thief,’ the thief muttered under his breath. ‘From pickpocket to jewel thief in no time at all, no time at all. She is even giving the heavens a run for their money or at least the jewel box set in the heavens!’ the thief mused, referring to London as a lady, a grand old lady.

  The thief had always wanted to stand on the Greenwich Prime Meridian, the timeline straddling East and West. Well, as he was in the area and had some time on his hands to kill, no time like the present, he thought smiling to himself like the cat burglar that had got the crème de la crème of London high society’s jewel boxes under his bed. By this time the moon had come out of hiding from behind the star clouds full to the brim and overflowing with diamonds, and so confident had our thief become he even asked a constable for the time.

  ‘Sorry constable, can you tell me the time?’ the thief said casually lighting a cigarette with a struck match as the hands of Big Ben struck midnight.

  ‘The big hand’s on the twelve, sir, it’s almost… no, it’s not almost midnight, it is midnight but then I would think you and all of London know that by now,’ the constable grinned, pointing at the biggest timepiece in London, Big Ben, as its mighty hammer struck the bell and time rang throughout London.

  ‘Ah yes, midnight. Big Ben would make a nice pocket watch for a giant, don’t you think?’ the thief replied smiling in an affable manner at the constable, who returned the thief’s smile with interest. ‘Don’t get paid to think, sir, get paid to do. This is the sort of night thieves come out of the woodwork attempting the daring-do the Penny Dreadfuls are so full of.’

  ‘Thieves, rogues the lot of them. Wouldn’t give them the time of day or night,’ the thief joked, enjoying the fact the constable had no idea he had a national treasure tucked safely away in his pocket. Big Ben was one timepiece he had no intention of stealing, although perhaps the Crown Jewels would make a nice little stash for his retirement!

  Before he knew it, the thief was at the Prime Meridian timeline. It felt like he was walking on illuminated air, his feet were so light.

  ‘The fireworks should soon start. I wonder when the fireworks in the museum will start. Depends on how good the fake watch is, I suppose,’ the thief mused. Jack the Flash then put his hand into his pocket and pulled out Cole’s Compendium. ‘Oops, wrong watch. Don’t want to get too carried away,’ the thief sniggered, then reached into his opposite pocket and pulled out his lucky charm, or if you want another story, the home where the Clock People resided. What would the thief think if he knew he was carrying a home full of little people in his pocket? He may think he had lost his mind.

  The moon went behind a cloud and then reappeared as if by magic. The moon was like a giant moondial, the thief thought, which was a curious thought to have at this moment in time but one that broadened his smile so it looked as if he had borrowed the crescent moon smile off the Man in the Moon.

  The thief stepped onto the Prime Meridian timeline outside the Greenwich Observatory as the moon reappeared. He glanced at the Gate Clock on the wall of the Greenwich Observatory. It was now almost bang on midnight. The moonlight struck the face of the moonstone glass and the thief and the watch disappeared into thin air.

  The constable looked all about him. Where on earth was the man he had been talking to not a moment ago? Perhaps it was the Victorian villain Spring-Heeled Jack up to his old tricks again. As long as it wasn’t the Ripper who had dragged himself from the gutters to do his rotten business one more time for old times’ sake, Londoners would sleep safe and sound in their beds tonight.

  The next thing the thief knew it was no longer night but day, although it was still cloudy. How could this be? Surely he hadn’t fallen asleep on the job? One thing was certain: this was still London and he was still standing on the Greenwich Prime Meridian. He looked all around him. The people all appeared to be dressed in old-fashioned costumes, ones he’d seen in books of the seventeenth century. They must be in fancy dress, yes, that was it, they were dressed in fancy dress costumes as it was Guy Fawkes Night, dressed in the costumes of Guy Fawkes’ day. And the light must be the full moon. He was simply tired, his tired eyes and tired mind playing tricks upon him. He saw a man on a bench reading a paper so, casual as you like, he sauntered up to the man and sat down beside him. Slowly he leant forward so he could see the date on the front of the paper. The date was 5th November 1770. He rubbed his eyes again. What black magic was this? Were the gods playing a cruel trick on him? Could it be the Moon Goddess had been watching him as he stole the priceless gold watch from under the very noses of the establishment, or the Man in the Moon, the Moonstone Detective? He smiled. He was tired that was all, yes that was all. Nothing a good night’s sleep wouldn’t cure.

  What lucky charm would take him back in time and why? If this was a dream he may as well play along with the absurd plotline, as long as it didn’t turn into a nightmare of the waking variety. No, a waking nightmare was ending up in the cheap seats in the Variety Theatre watching a cheap magician doing even cheaper card tricks that a child of five could perform with one arm tied behind their back. An antiques dealer who dealt in valuable timepieces could make a small fortune travelling back and forward in time, he mused. He could buy new trinkets in the past and sell them as antiqu
es in the present. Better still he could steal new trinkets in the past and sell them as antiques in the present. The Time Thief would make a good story for the Victorian Penny Dreadfuls starring the infamous Jack the Flash.

  The thief had heard of the story of the Cheapside Hoard, which had been an Elizabethan treasure trove of jewels, brooches, pins and timepieces. This treasure trove, unbeknownst to the thief, would be found by a group of navies in a renovated building in 1910. In theory, after 1910 had come and gone and the thief was still a free man and not being kept in an iron cage, if he went back in time just before the hoard was found in 1910 he could be rich beyond his wildest dreams. If he had a crystal ball he would have known London was sitting on a small fortune, the Cheapside Hoard, which was just waiting for someone to stumble upon it. The Cheapside Hoard had the thief’s name written all over it, or at least it would if he’d just look into that crystal ball. Better still, why not try gazing into the moonstone face of the golden watch that may well tell him his fortune?

  ‘Turn back, Dick Whittington, your fortune is in your own time, that of 1909. There the streets you walk upon will be paved with gold. Turn back I say, turn back, you cheapskate. Or alternatively you could turn the hands of this miniature time machine forward, it’s up to you!’ cackled a little voice in his ear, that of the devil!

  But as clearly this was just a vivid dream, the best thing the thief could do was find a nice comfortable park bench, procure a large broadsheet newspaper from a waste bin and settle down for a nice midday nap. By the time he awoke everything would be all fine and dandy as if this little psychotic episode had never happened! Or alternatively he could find himself in the Clink or strapped tightly to a trolley in Bedlam!

  In truth the thief had never had much of an imagination, but since he had found the antique gold fob watch his imagination was running wild, so wild he wondered if he was going mad! His mind had never exactly run like clockwork, but now it was running so fast it was just a matter of time before the hands span off and took his own eye out. If this happened he’d wear a monocle to cover the fact he had a glass eye. It would be an even better story for The Memoirs of a Time Thief – one better than even the jewel thief known as Raffles!

  Even though it was daytime the thief’s body clock was telling him it was night and eventually he drifted off to sleep on the bench, though in truth he already thought he was in a dream. Then he would awake and find himself in his bed in his shack in the country. He hoped stealing Cole’s Compendium hadn’t been a dream. It would be a nightmare if he awoke in a cell in prison! The last thing the thief’s tired mind told him was the man on the bench was reading an old paper, a copy of the paper that told of the Guy Fawkes Gunpowder Plot. There had probably been thousands of copies of the replica paper sold all over London. This man was simply just imagining what it might have been like back then. Yes, that was the story, nothing to write home about… ‘Dear Jack, wish you were here, having a wonderful time in Georgian England. In a flash I will hotfoot it down to Brighton where I will promenade along the Palace Pier, fleecing all the rich and famous of their jewellery. Will send another picture postcard from my travels in time when I get there. Fondest regards, the Time Thief x…’ Tick tock, tick tock…

  17

  Time

  A little while later…

  ‘Sorry sir, but you can’t sleep there,’ a constable coughed loudly, waking the thief from his slumbers.

  ‘What, what?!’ exclaimed the thief half asleep. As soon as he saw the uniform his mind raced. He was about to be apprehended for stealing Cole’s Compendium.

  ‘Move on now, sir, I don’t want any trouble from any vagrants and vagabonds,’ the constable snapped, this time a little more firmly.

  ‘Yes, yes, sorry officer, will do,’ the thief stuttered full of apologies as he slowly came to his senses. It was obvious the constable thought he was a tramp and in truth he did look more than a little dishevelled. Shakily he got to his feet and walked on. A few hours later, still dazed and confused, he found himself at the old shack in the country, except the shack looked different, it looked in better condition. It must be the light and his tired eyes producing this conjuring trick of the mind, nothing more than that. He walked into the house and into bed like a zombie, but not so much like a zombie that he didn’t take his two valuable timepieces out to admire them. ‘A good night’s work,’ he muttered to himself as he climbed into bed and fell into a deep sleep… tick tock, tick tock…

  *

  Suddenly a beautiful turquoise and green dragonfly appeared in the frame of the upstairs open window of the shop. For a few seconds it hovered there as if caught in the glass of a magic lantern slide. Then the dragonfly flew towards Wilbur who was uttering his last words, or so he thought. As the dragonfly flew right over Wilbur’s head it picked Wilbur up with its outstretched legs, just as the spider was about to devour him. The miniature dragon then carried Wilbur towards the windowsill, which is where it landed, releasing Wilbur before flying back out the window and seemingly disappearing into thin air.

  ‘What, what just happened?’ Wilbur stuttered, his mind in a whirl.

  ‘I would say that dragonfly just saved your bacon. Perhaps you can use that bacon to make a hearty breakfast. By the pasty look on your face, you are going to need a good feed,’ Tippy replied all smiles, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary, which it was not. However, it was something out of the extraordinary, of that there was no doubt!

  Then Scarlet appeared carrying a tiny wooden box. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t let my brother harm you, you can sleep in this matchbox,’ Scarlet said holding out a matchbox lined with cotton wool.

  Neither Tippy nor Wilbur were sure about trusting the girl but after all, she had saved them from the giant boy, although clearly she was under the misapprehension they were fairies, which clearly they were not. This was not the story of The Water Babies, even if they had almost been drowned twice over since they had entered this new world.

  ‘We’re not fairies, we’re the Clock People,’ Wilbur shouted at the giant girl but once again she could not hear a thing. However, if she had heard this she may well have thought she was dreaming and wondered why these Clock People did not look more like clocks, as dreams were very surreal at times.

  ‘We need to get as close to the girl’s ear as possible. In fact I think we’re going to have to climb inside into the labyrinth of the inner ear and the only time that is going to be possible is when she’s in bed at night. Hopefully we can tell her our story before she goes to bed,’ said Tippy trying out some wishful thinking of her own.

  ‘A bedtime story, that will send her off to sleep,’ Wilbur added, hoping the giant girl didn’t think she was hearing voices, otherwise she may well imagine she had gone quite, quite mad like Alice in Wonderland or the Mad Hatter.

  That night when the two children were in bed they climbed out of their little matchbox home and jumped from the bedside table onto the bed, before climbing up the pillow and then the girl’s hair as if she were Rapunzel. The girl didn’t appear to feel a thing as they climbed nervously into the labyrinth of her ear.

  ‘Excuse me, miss, don’t mean to disturb you but there are things we need to tell you, most important things, isn’t that right, Wilbur,’ bellowed Tippy at the very top range of her voice so the words echoed through the tunnels of the giant girl’s inner ear.

  ‘Yes it is, Tippy,’ hollered Wilbur, their voices echoing inside the labyrinth of Scarlet’s ear over and over. It was as if they were standing in the mouth of a cave which was better than standing in the roof of the child’s mouth, or so they imagined.

  Scarlet thought she was hearing voices. It must be a vivid dream, she thought. ‘Mr Tickles, get out of my ear, I’ve told you I’m extremely ticklish,’ Scarlet snorted putting her finger in her ear and wiggling it about violently.

  ‘Duck!’ exclaimed Tippy as the wiggling finger nearly knocked her into next
week.

  ‘Duck in a child’s ear? You do have quite the imagination, Tippy. We’re not telling one of Beatrix Potter’s illuminating tales, are we?’ Wilbur laughed.

  ‘Depends, there’s the Ugly Duckling over there!’ Tippy exclaimed pointing at the giant boy who was snoring away like a baby hippopotamus.

  ‘Wasn’t the Ugly Duckling a Hans Christian Andersen creation?’ Wilbur enquired.

  ‘Yes and so was Hans Christian Andersen, as once upon a time he was an actor so he probably created his storyteller’s persona so as to illuminate his tales even further,’ Tippy replied using her imagination to great effect.

  ‘We need to shout louder. Cup your hands together and we’ll both shout together at the top of our voices, and we’ll shout, “Don’t be frightened, it’s the fairy folk but not the tooth fairy, she’s in Fairyland getting a well-earned rest”,’ gabbled Tippy telling a short fairytale of her own.

  ‘Let’s just stick to “It’s the fairy folk” and be done with it, not that I want to be called a fairy but at least they are known as gentle folk who wouldn’t harm a fly, whereas the elf population are known for their mischief,’ replied Wilbur talking a good deal of sense but even more nonsense!

  ‘The fairy folk!’ Scarlet cried sitting bolt upright in bed as the tickle in her ear worsened. ‘Are you in my ear? If you are, please remove yourself this minute, if not sooner, my ear tickles like mad. It’s your wings, they’re fluttering against the hairs in my ear. If you don’t get out soon I’m going to have to stick a match in there and scratch. Now I don’t want to stick a lit match into my ear but if that’s the only way to smoke you out I will!’ Scarlet snorted irritably.