The man known in this city as the Watchmaker sat on a bench and contemplated the fused lump of glass and metal and wiring in his hand. An hour ago it had been a tool of sublime power, like Archimedes' lever, which could move the Earth in the right hands - or the wrong ones. Now it was a paperweight.
Like so many others, including his own counterpart and nemesis, he had been drawn here in search of that slumbering potential. At first he thought that he had found it in young Miss Yin - but she was only part of the equation. The rest lay buried much deeper, not just in earth and rubble but in schemes and double-crosses, unreliable memory and questionable sanity. He'd finally uncovered the truth and brought it to light; for an achingly brief time he'd held it in his hands, a glittering jewel, ready to make his thought and will into reality.
But in that moment of triumph came despair, as he realized it could never be. He was too flawed, too mortal to be a god. He had seen the fate of the device's creator and knew the same awaited him if he dared to claim it for himself; the seeds of madness were in him too, even now, like a cracked wall that had merely been painted over. What mistakes would he make, what horrors might he accidentally conjure? Limitless power had been within his grasp... and the only thing he could do was give it up to be destroyed.
With a curse, he flung the useless thing into the nearby fountain. It sank with a hollow plunk.
"Make a wish?"
The question startled him; he'd been so intent on the ruined device that he hadn't noticed he was no longer alone. The speaker was a woman about his own age, late forties or early fifties, her face lined with wrinkles and dark hair shot through with grey. She wore simple, loose-fitting clothes - a blouse, sweatpants and sneakers - and sat in a wheelchair. There was a slight tremor in her hands, but her brown eyes glittered with humor.
Recovering from his surprise, he let out his breath in a bitter sigh. "Too late for that now."
"Never too late to make a new start. At least, that's what they tell me." Her smile was wan but sympathetic.
"'They' being the helpful, well-meaning doctors and nurses," he grumbled. The woman offered no demur. "Let me tell you something, my dear - they're nowhere near as certain or as all-knowing as they pretend to be."
"Who is, really?" she answered with a shrug. "I take it you've spent some time in a hospital."
"For a few months, yes. I was... not myself." But I was. I am he and he is me... He shook his head, dismissing the distracting thought.
"And now you're someone else. Not quite the same person as before." The woman sighed, leaning back in her wheelchair and watching the fountain bubble. "Some days you're not sure who you are. You have a box full of pieces of a life, and you try to put them back together, but they don't all fit anymore and some are missing. You look in the mirror, or at old photos, and you see an unfamiliar face. But the hardest part..." She swallowed. "The hardest part is being around those you knew, and all their expectations of how you should be. And you wonder how to tell them that the person they miss... isn't coming back. Not all the way."
"... yes," he finally said, stunned by this stranger's understanding and insight.
"I'm Brooke." She extended a hand; he took it, stilling the tremor, and brushed his lips across the back, making her smile. "A gentleman, mm?"
"I've been known to play the role," he smiled back. And a fool, and a king... stop it!
"Ah, but who are you, really?" she asked kindly, then held up a hand before he could respond. "I'm not asking for any secrets. I'm just saying, that's something you need to know for yourself, down in your gut. Until you do, you're standing on shaky ground. Never know when it might give way."
He relaxed and nodded. "Just so. I have been having trouble finding my footing of late. I keep tripping over things." His rueful smile turned serious as he considered Brooke again. There was something odd about the psychic impressions and feelings he was getting; they seemed to come from all around, not just the spot beside the bench. There was something there, but it was indistinct, elusive, hard to pick out from the background - shielded, perhaps? He concentrated...
The first and only time he'd tried this with Penny Yin, it had been like looking directly at the sun. This was more like gazing into a bottomless chasm, including the overwhelming sensation of vertigo. "Who... who are you?" he asked dazedly, drawing back from the edge before he fell in.
"I can't answer that. I'm still figuring it out myself." Again that sad, frail smile. "What you really mean is, 'what are you?'" She spread her arms. "Another broken soul, like you. Just a little... bigger."
"Impossible," he muttered, still shaken by his glimpse of the abyss.
"'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,'" Brooke quoted wryly. "The evidence is before you; will you deny it?"
"... no," he finally said with an effort, pulling himself together. "Very well, I acknowledge your existence."
"A gentleman," she repeated. He didn't need to look at her with his eyes to know that hers were twinkling. She tilted her head, regarding him closely in turn. "I can tell you're not from around here. You had another life, before you came to this city. Do you want to go back to it?"
"Not really," he found himself admitting. It seemed so small and lonely now; he'd had his books and his tinkering to occupy him, but since stepping through that portal, he'd discovered not only a new world but new aspects of himself. The desire to explore - not just places to see and things to do, but finding the extent and potential of his own abilities. A need for companionship, and an awareness that while much of humanity was petty and venal and selfish, there were also those worth knowing and even admiring. And perhaps most surprising at all to a cynical old misanthrope, a wish to help others, to be of service... within reason, of course.
"Then you need to... need to..." She trailed off, looking to one side. Several seconds passed before she seemed to become aware of him again. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I need to do something," he suggested.
"Yes! You need to figure out who you are. Once you do that, the rest will follow."
"Easier said than done," he observed dourly.
"Don't I know it," she replied. "But it'll work out, you'll see. Never too late to make a new start."
He chuckled, a bit sadly. "I think this is where I came in, my dear." He took her hand again and squeezed it gently. "Thank you. I'll take your words to heart."
"Good." She squeezed back. "Do you have to go right away? I was going to watch the sunset, and I wouldn't mind some company."
"Of course. There's nowhere I'd rather be."
He settled back on the bench, noticing for the first time how long the shadows had grown while he'd sat there, lost in his regrets. The sun was already veiled by the shimmering curtain of the War Wall, tinting everything in sight - the plaza, the trendy new apartments, the construction yards and the donut shop - a warm amber. Soon it would pass behind the distant buildings and be gone entirely. But for this golden moment, even with an uncertain future before him and no clear path, he was at peace. He was content.
And though a casual observer might have seen him sitting alone, he was not.
SPECIAL #3 - OVERBROOK
(with the Watchmaker)
2007
The man known in this city as the Watchmaker sat on a bench and contemplated the fused lump of glass and metal and wiring in his hand. An hour ago it had been a tool of sublime power, like Archimedes' lever, which could move the Earth in the right hands - or the wrong ones. Now it was a paperweight.
Like so many others, including his own counterpart and nemesis, he had been drawn here in search of that slumbering potential. At first he thought that he had found it in young Miss Yin - but she was only part of the equation. The rest lay buried much deeper, not just in earth and rubble but in schemes and double-crosses, unreliable memory and questionable sanity. He'd finally uncovered the truth and brought it to light; for an achingly brief time he'd held it in his hands, a glittering jewel, ready to make his thought and will into reality.
But in that moment of triumph came despair, as he realized it could never be. He was too flawed, too mortal to be a god. He had seen the fate of the device's creator and knew the same awaited him if he dared to claim it for himself; the seeds of madness were in him too, even now, like a cracked wall that had merely been painted over. What mistakes would he make, what horrors might he accidentally conjure? Limitless power had been within his grasp... and the only thing he could do was give it up to be destroyed.
With a curse, he flung the useless thing into the nearby fountain. It sank with a hollow plunk.
"Make a wish?"
The question startled him; he'd been so intent on the ruined device that he hadn't noticed he was no longer alone. The speaker was a woman about his own age, late forties or early fifties, her face lined with wrinkles and dark hair shot through with grey. She wore simple, loose-fitting clothes - a blouse, sweatpants and sneakers - and sat in a wheelchair. There was a slight tremor in her hands, but her brown eyes glittered with humor.
Recovering from his surprise, he let out his breath in a bitter sigh. "Too late for that now."
"Never too late to make a new start. At least, that's what they tell me." Her smile was wan but sympathetic.
"'They' being the helpful, well-meaning doctors and nurses," he grumbled. The woman offered no demur. "Let me tell you something, my dear - they're nowhere near as certain or as all-knowing as they pretend to be."
"Who is, really?" she answered with a shrug. "I take it you've spent some time in a hospital."
"For a few months, yes. I was... not myself." But I was. I am he and he is me... He shook his head, dismissing the distracting thought.
"And now you're someone else. Not quite the same person as before." The woman sighed, leaning back in her wheelchair and watching the fountain bubble. "Some days you're not sure who you are. You have a box full of pieces of a life, and you try to put them back together, but they don't all fit anymore and some are missing. You look in the mirror, or at old photos, and you see an unfamiliar face. But the hardest part..." She swallowed. "The hardest part is being around those you knew, and all their expectations of how you should be. And you wonder how to tell them that the person they miss... isn't coming back. Not all the way."
"... yes," he finally said, stunned by this stranger's understanding and insight.
"I'm Brooke." She extended a hand; he took it, stilling the tremor, and brushed his lips across the back, making her smile. "A gentleman, mm?"
"I've been known to play the role," he smiled back. And a fool, and a king... stop it!
"Ah, but who are you, really?" she asked kindly, then held up a hand before he could respond. "I'm not asking for any secrets. I'm just saying, that's something you need to know for yourself, down in your gut. Until you do, you're standing on shaky ground. Never know when it might give way."
He relaxed and nodded. "Just so. I have been having trouble finding my footing of late. I keep tripping over things." His rueful smile turned serious as he considered Brooke again. There was something odd about the psychic impressions and feelings he was getting; they seemed to come from all around, not just the spot beside the bench. There was something there, but it was indistinct, elusive, hard to pick out from the background - shielded, perhaps? He concentrated...
The first and only time he'd tried this with Penny Yin, it had been like looking directly at the sun. This was more like gazing into a bottomless chasm, including the overwhelming sensation of vertigo. "Who... who are you?" he asked dazedly, drawing back from the edge before he fell in.
"I can't answer that. I'm still figuring it out myself." Again that sad, frail smile. "What you really mean is, 'what are you?'" She spread her arms. "Another broken soul, like you. Just a little... bigger."
"Impossible," he muttered, still shaken by his glimpse of the abyss.
"'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,'" Brooke quoted wryly. "The evidence is before you; will you deny it?"
"... no," he finally said with an effort, pulling himself together. "Very well, I acknowledge your existence."
"A gentleman," she repeated. He didn't need to look at her with his eyes to know that hers were twinkling. She tilted her head, regarding him closely in turn. "I can tell you're not from around here. You had another life, before you came to this city. Do you want to go back to it?"
"Not really," he found himself admitting. It seemed so small and lonely now; he'd had his books and his tinkering to occupy him, but since stepping through that portal, he'd discovered not only a new world but new aspects of himself. The desire to explore - not just places to see and things to do, but finding the extent and potential of his own abilities. A need for companionship, and an awareness that while much of humanity was petty and venal and selfish, there were also those worth knowing and even admiring. And perhaps most surprising at all to a cynical old misanthrope, a wish to help others, to be of service... within reason, of course.
"Then you need to... need to..." She trailed off, looking to one side. Several seconds passed before she seemed to become aware of him again. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I need to do something," he suggested.
"Yes! You need to figure out who you are. Once you do that, the rest will follow."
"Easier said than done," he observed dourly.
"Don't I know it," she replied. "But it'll work out, you'll see. Never too late to make a new start."
He chuckled, a bit sadly. "I think this is where I came in, my dear." He took her hand again and squeezed it gently. "Thank you. I'll take your words to heart."
"Good." She squeezed back. "Do you have to go right away? I was going to watch the sunset, and I wouldn't mind some company."
"Of course. There's nowhere I'd rather be."
He settled back on the bench, noticing for the first time how long the shadows had grown while he'd sat there, lost in his regrets. The sun was already veiled by the shimmering curtain of the War Wall, tinting everything in sight - the plaza, the trendy new apartments, the construction yards and the donut shop - a warm amber. Soon it would pass behind the distant buildings and be gone entirely. But for this golden moment, even with an uncertain future before him and no clear path, he was at peace. He was content.
And though a casual observer might have seen him sitting alone, he was not.
My characters at Virtueverse
Faces of the City