A Mouse Ran Up the Clock A. C. Wise
Simon watched the mouse scale the clock’s side, whiskers thrumming. The clock struck, and the mouse quivered in time. Its paws lost their hold, and the mouse fell, its legs beating the air as Simon bent to retrieve it.
Carefully, he turned the creature on its back. He could feel the flutter-beat of a heart through the skin, and above it the gentle ticking of a different kind of mechanism. He soaked the corner of a cloth in chloroform and held it near the mouse’s mouth and nose until the shivering stopped. Then he picked up a scalpel and tweezers, peering through his glasses, and opened the creature up.
The mouse’s insides whirred, and the same honey-colored light that had lit its ascent winked off golden gears. Simon made a few minute adjustments; tightening here, and resetting a balance there, and then he righted the mouse. Waking, the mouse blinked and ran its paws over its whiskers before running for a hole in the baseboard.
The bell hanging over the shop door chimed and Simon looked up. Hastily he pulled the watch, which he should have finished that morning, towards him and feigned absorption in his work. Hard boots clicked over the wooden floor, and the man’s shadow filled Simon’s peripheral vision, blocking the light. The man cleared his throat and Simon looked up. His heart went into his throat.
“Herr Shulewitz? Simon Shulewitz?”
“Yes?”
Simon could barely swallow. He fought to keep his hands from trembling as he set the watch down and straightened his shoulders, trying to meet the Staatspolizei man in the eye. The officer held his peaked cap under one arm, and the rest of his uniform was in perfect order – pressed and clean with sharp lines and not a speck of dust. The row of medals across his breast would have been blinding if the sun hadn’t been behind him.
“Herr Shulewitz,” here the man attempted something like a smile, but it pulled the deep scars around his mouth into ghastly lines and Simon fought the urge to shudder. “Are you aware that you have a vermin problem?”
“Sir?”
Simon gripped the counter until his knuckles were white to keep himself from visibly shaking.
“Vermin, Herr Shulewitz. Mice.”
The officer drew a plain white handkerchief, folded over to hide what was inside, out of his pocket and lay it on the counter between them. Simon’s heart beat high in his throat as the officer reached out one gloved hand and nudged the folds of cloth aside.
One of his mice, looking as though it had been crushed flat by a boot, so gears mingled with blood and fur, lay within. Simon could not help his hand flying to his mouth. The Staatspolizei officer smiled.
“A very curious creature, don’t you think, Herr Shulewitz?”
“I . . .” Simon faltered. Tears burned behind his eyes, threatening to fall and make his fear visible. He tried not to think of shattered shop windows and cries in the night; neighbors who disappeared never to be seen or heard from again. It was easy to deny as long as darkness covered it, but now it was broad daylight and the officer was standing right in front of him. Simon darted a quick glance behind the officer. Were his neighbors drawing their curtains, bringing false night and pretending they didn’t see?
“A very curious creature indeed, one with a great many uses, don’t you think?”
It took Simon a moment to register that the officer was still speaking, still studying him with strange bright eyes, and still smiling his terrible slashed smile.
“I believe, Herr Shulewitz, that the Emperor would be very interested in such a creature, and the man who created it. And if the Emperor is interested, then I am interested.”
The officer reached out then, and his leather-clad grip was surprisingly strong on Simon’s upper arm.
“Pack what clothing you need. You are in the service of the Empire now.”
It was not a question.
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