A Stolen Echo

I bore three patches on my person today, the same as every other day. The first patch, over my left breast, crossed repeating rifles on a smoky-grey background, the crest that identified me as a Clockwork Marshall. The second, on my right shoulder, was a small medical patch of Brass Balm, an aid to help dull my near-constant state of pain. I wore the last patch over my right eye, a covering to hide the memento that awful war, the Sunbeam Schism, had stolen from me so long ago. Marshall, Bastard, Clock Cloak, Dark One, Nue, Nák, I have been called by many names, but today I simply go by Nyx.

The time had been 8:12 AM, and everything was right in the world. The Echo of Remembrance had been in place, and with it, all had been well, for all of us knew who we were and where we had come from. Then, out of nowhere, at 8:13 AM, we forgot who we were. Not due to some mass insanity, for most of us knew what the cause was; The Echo had either been taken or broken, and with it, too, fled our memories of self. This was not so bad as you might imagine, we still knew surface-level things, like what we did for work, the faces of our spouses and children, where we lived, etc. What we forgot was much deeper, a current running strong below the surface, one not appreciated until it’s gone. Our names, the names of our family members, the lives full of emotion and feeling we had led, our people as a whole, memories of a group who had toiled under unimaginable weights of such a long time to build up the place of safety. All forgotten in the briefest of moments, in the time it took for the minute hand to mark thirteen on the clocks of Copperhaven.

I had been asleep when it happened, only finding out after a runner from the Chronogaze had woken me from a fretful sleep. Banging on my door, I hoisted myself out of bed with great effort. From slumber to action, it had been only a few ticks. Upon hearing the news of the Echo being stolen, I sprinted to the scene.

The Second Spire, tall and grand, sat in the middle of our land, a beacon to hearken back to all we had come from. I climbed the twisting staircase, round and round, trudging upward to deal with the calamity that had befallen the people of Copperhaven on this day. I was late to the scene, and it already had colleagues of mine crawling about, trying to discern what had happened here. The Dials, the street-level guards people of our city, scurried out of my way as I listened to the report from my assistant, Nigel.

“…so you can see, the Pendulum Sentinel was at his post. There’s no way someone could have snuck in to steal the Echo,” the short, flustered, man adjusted his bronze-colored spectacles, “it simply couldn’t have been done.”

“Yet, I don’t fucking see it,” I motioned across the expansive, cold, dusty, stone room with one hand, “do you?”

“Well, uhm… no.”

“And do you see any bits of glowing, green rock lying about? Did you check in your ass by chance, I mean, while your head was up there?”

“No,” he lowered his in embarrassment.

“So it wasn’t destroyed?”

“It would appear not, Marshall.”

“Then, it’s a safe and accurate deduction to say,” I sighed at the man, he had been appointed to me a month ago, and I was still coming to terms with not working in a team, “it’s been fucking stolen.”

“Yes, Marshall,” head tilting back up to look me in the eye again, as though I already had the answer, “but by who?”

“Well, now, that’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?”

Down two hours and twenty-five stories, we were at ground level again, in the base of the Second Spire, where the administration of the city held its bureaucratic endeavors. Assembled before us, the three people who had been in contact with the Echo over the past forty-eight hours: Maddock, the Pendulum Sentinel, who claimed to have not seen anything, was a codgery old man of gruff demeanor, his balding head adorned with frizzy grey hairs; Sabeen, the Hourglass Minder, charged with the maintaining and repairing the myriad mechanisms and gears that kept our city churning along, was a quiet, slender girl with calloused hands, a stark contrast to her soft features; Bella dan Wallenstein, an aristocrat with seemingly not a small amount of disdain for being summoned to this inquisition, sat primly in an elegant gown, her jewelry and rings glistening despite the dimly lit surrounds.

“You have all been summoned here because we have reason to suspect one of you has taken the Echo,” I started the inquisition with the usual drivel. “I’m sure you’ve all noticed that we can’t seem to fucking remember our heritage, yes?”

A nod from Sabeen and Maddock, plus a huff of contempt from Bella. The three seemed to understand the gravity of their situation.

“Right,” I walked over to the far wall and opened the giant copper door to the interrogation room. A buzz of clicks and whirring came from the mechanism that operated it. You shall each be questioned in turn and given ample opportunity to present your case.” I turned back to face the trio, two innocent and one guilty, surely, amongst them. “Who would like to go first?”

“I won’t tolerate being here another second. Do you not have any idea who I am? I demand to speak to the Inspector General at once!”

“I know who you are Bella dan Wallenstein,” I let a bit of mockery slip as I said her family’s title since they had done most of the work to earn their place among the nobility, “and I thank you for volunteering to go first. This way, if you will,” I motioned into the interrogation chamber, “then we can get your pretty little behind on its way back to mommy and daddy.”

“Well, I never—”

“Yes, yes, insufferable dignities and so forth, into the room, please.” I waited as Bella looked around in disbelief. Not seeing any fawning savior step in to object to this, clearly a great disservice we were doing a lady of the nobility, she plastered a scowl on her face and entered.

The two flimsy wooden chairs were a stark contrast to the heavy copper table that separated us. The light was even more fleeting inside the interrogation room. Only a single gas lantern, softly glowing amber, served as the only thing to cast our faces into the light—not entirely enough to reveal the masks beneath.

“You entered the Second Spire at 10:32 PM last night, is that correct?”

“Yes, my family has had the right to recall before it for the past hundred years.” Bella bit the words out at me, I wasn’t impressed with her display of contempt.

“Mmm, right. Can you tell me about that?”

“About what?” Good, I was getting her worked up, it’s harder to lie well with heightened emotions.

“About the recall,” I motioned at myself, “as a mere commoner, I’ve always been so very interested in what that process is all about.”

Jumping on the chance to enlighten one of us commoners about her high and mighty duty, clearly of vital importance to Copperhaven, she began.

“Yes, you wouldn’t be expected to understand it; how could you? My family, the Wallensteins, have been serving to scribe the memories of our people in the event of the Echo’s destruction. I have a right to the Echo; the Wallensteins have toiled over that cursed device for centuries!If the Echo is destroyed or taken or falls into the wrong hands, you people, you forget, as a whole, who we are and where we have come from. So I can’t imagine why you would ever think that I, one of the safe keepers whose duty it is to protect our knowledge, would ever bring about the very thing that keeps my family in the emperor’s favor?”

Yes, curious indeed, but that doesn’t rule you out of suspicion, you trumped-up little bitch.

“Of course, of course,” I lifted both palms up in a calming gesture. There’s just one little thing bothering me.” I waited, watching her face like a hawk, waiting for the twist of her lips into a scowl that might give her away. “Why did you need to conduct your duties as a recaller so very late at night?”

If looks could kill, the gaze Bella dan Wallenstein gave me then would have been a quick and brutal death, “Perhaps if you had all of your visual acuity, you would have seen that House Dellion amended the recall schedule at the last minute,” she crossed her arms in front of her, convinced at her copper-clad defense. “I did not personally choose to work at such an hour, but alas,” a sigh of exasperation at the weight of her ever-important duty, “a woman’s duty must be first and foremost in her life, don’t you agree, Marshall?” She tapped just below her left eye, giving me a wink along with the insult.

“I lost my eye in service, fighting against the Schism,” I had to draw in a breath to compose myself, it wasn’t unlike a noble to sling insults willy-nilly, but it still hurt, “I will have Nigel verify your claims, if what you say is true, then I have no reason to keep you.”

“I should very much think not, and don’t you worry, I will be voicing my complaint to the Inspector General, this completely barbaric treatment of a noble will not stand!”

“Yes, you do that,” I opened the door again, letting the empty threats of the aspiring-wretch leave with her. “Maddock, if you would,” the Pendulum Sentinel seemed to have drifted off to sleep.

“Maddock!”

“Huh, what, who?”

“If you would,” I gestured to the now-empty chair back inside the interrogation chamber.

“Yes, yes, of course; sorry, I must have dozed off for a second.”

After what felt like an eternity of rickety-wobbling, the Sentinel made his way into the chamber and lowered himself down into the chair. I closed the door behind him, the tick, tick, tick of gears turning on into infinity, sealing the threshold behind him.

“Now, I will start by saying that I, personally don’t suspect you of anything,” I lied with a more gentle approach, he was the prime suspect, having his only job be to watch vigil of the damned thing, “but you have to understand why you must be questioned too, yes?”

“What? My digestion is fine. What does that have to do with the Echo?” The old man was nearly yelling this back at me. I had almost forgotten that Maddock was very hard of hearing.

“You must understand why you have to be questioned!” I raised my voice, annunciating each word carefully.

“Yes, of course! No need to yell, I’m right in front of you…” He trailed off, muttering something about ‘the youth these days’ to himself.

This isn’t going to be fun.

“I told the other young fellow with the glasses… what was his name? I told him I didn’t see anything.” Maddock boomed the words out, weary and weak.

“Two fucking hours, two fucking hours of my life,” I muttered my disbelief. Communicating with the ancient Sentinel had been more difficult than I imagined.

“What’s that? Speak up, dear!”

“You’re free to leave,” I shouted back, not a small bit impatient in my tone. I stood and pointed out the door I held open. Miming seemed like a better means of getting my message across.

“Ah, right! Top of the day to you then, and do tell me when you catch the rapscallion, he won’t sneak by old Maddock twice.” He tapped the side of his nose, in a gesture I’m still not able to discern the meaning of, and then he left.

Weary and drained I went out into the holding room, eager to hopefully wrap up this investigation with my final suspect, “Sabine?”

The girl was in the middle of showing Nigel how the air system of the building worked: letting in cool and hot, respectively, when the climate outside shifted. She had drawn a small, yet complex diagram for him on a napkin.

“Nigel, do you mind?” My nervous little assistant shot up from his seat.

“Of course, Marshall,” He made a half-giddy, half-apologetic expression towards Sabine, who shrugged and winked in return. It seemed I would have to go over the basics of professionalism with him again.

The green-eyed girl followed me into the integration chamber, the smell of grease and oil floating behind her, much like they did in the messy bun of the auburn hair atop her head. Tired yet still determined to solve this case, I sat down opposite her. Everything about the girl seemed normal, aside from the fact she was in an occupation usually preformed by big, barrel-chested men with hairy forearms. I wasn’t sure what to think of her, and I didn’t want to let the ordering I chose to question the suspects affect my judgement. She was the last one, and I didn’t think the other two had been responsible; I tried to keep an open mind.

“Sabine, I trust you know why you’re here?”

A curt nod.

“Good, then walk me through your shift, I believe you started at late in the evening, and you were on duty until 7:00 AM this morning, is that correct?”

Another small nod.

“And tell me, where did you go after you got off?”

“I went to go pickup more solvent from the market, they get the best stuff in the morning, you know?”

“No,” I entirely didn’t know what she was talking about.

“Of course,” Sabine’s enthusiasm sprung into life, full force, “fresh from the stills, you won’t get anything like it in that shit-hole they call a distillery on the east side of the city. Nope. If you want the good stuff, the stuff that really eats the grime and grease off the gears, you gotta get the dwarven stuff and remember to go first thing in the morning! They’re a temperamental lot, so don’t take them too kindly to outsiders. It's best to catch them right after breakfast.”

A silence of some time passed as I tried to figure out what the fuck she was talking about, or why ever she thought it was of any interest or relevance to this interrogation.

“A receipt?” I asked after staring into her excited little eyes for a time.

“Of course, though I left it at home.”

“How convenient,” I replied, unsure of the merit to her story.

“Convenient? What, you go around carrying bills of sale for your truncheons and over-cloaks? Or whatever it is you Clockwork guards need for your jobs? I don’t think so.”

Hmm, she has a point.

“Alright, I’ll have Nigel escort you home. You’ll have to stay in custody for now, but once he verifies the bill of sale and checks the time, you’ll be free to go.”

This wasn’t good, the only three people in the world who had been near the Echo each had a good reason as to why they weren’t the thief. Well all of them except Maddock…

I stood up, opened the door a final time, and walked through it to fetch Nigel.

He wasn’t there.

Curious, I wonder where he could have gotten off to?

I strode over to the table on the opposite side of the room and picked up the diagram that Sabine had drawn. Handing it back to her, I saw it.

On the flip side, a message was scrawled.

Nyx,

The Echo’s mine now.

Should have looked right under your big, stupid nose first! Guess you can’t see too well with one eye!

- Sincerely, Nigel

P.S. FUCK YOU

I let the note fall to the floor in utter disbelief, I knew Nigel didn’t like me, but to steal the memories of an entire city? That seemed beyond the worrisome little man.

“What’s wrong?” Sabine asked as I set off at a dead sprint. I had to find Nigel and get the Echo back.

Skidding out the main doors to the Second Spire, I desperately searched for any trace of my pudgy assistant.

Where would he go? He has a family, right? Surely, he wouldn’t skip town without them.

Pleased with my reasoning, I set off toward his home, my black Clockwork Marshall’s cloak billowing out behind me as I fought past the pain of my aging body. Past baker and hawker, I ran. I knew he lived on the city’s north side, and all the Clockwork guard did was. Then I remembered he had said something about a particularly mean bookseller one time, I knew that bookseller, and he was pretty nasty. Pivoting ninety degrees, I wheeled around, careening past a cart and horse when I slammed dead-on into someone.

“Don’t you look where you’re—” the rest of my words died on my lips, it was Nigel, carrying a bag full of sandwiches that had spilled out onto the street when we slammed together.

He was just standing there, a confused look on his face, no mask to his confusion.

“Marshall, I was just going to get us some supper; you’ve been at it long.”

I stood, nearly blind with rage, I grabbed him by the collar and started throttling him.

“Where is it! Why did you take it! I swear, if you sold it off to an enemy of the state I will see you strung up for treason.”

“I don’t—know—what—” I stopped shaking him then, seeing his difficulty in talking as I flung him back and forth.

“Where is the Echo.” Venous words, spoken through my gritted teeth.

“I don’t know, that’s what we’re trying to figure out, right?”

We stared into one another eyes for some time, not remembering who we were as a people, as a whole, but knowing in that moment, that we did have a shared purpose.

“You’re telling me you didn’t take it, then what was that note about?”

“What note?” He seemed to genuinely have no idea what I was talking about.

Putting a hand on my head, I wracked my mind, trying to think of what was going on, and then the next thought came to me, swift and dark in its entrance.

“Nigel,” I paused, scared of the answers my next question would reveal, “Why did you go and get us fucking sandwiches?”

“I just thought it would be nice that you would appreciate it, so I took the initiative to make sure we were adequately fed.” His stutter didn’t go unnoticed, and I didn’t believe it for a second.

“Nigel, in the month I’ve known you, you’ve taken ‘initiative’ exactly zero fucking times.” I reached down, ready to draw my flintlock, “Why did you decide to take it today?”

Seeing my intent and disbelief, he folded, “Well, I was just talking to Sabine. You were in there with Maddock for a really, really long time, and she’s quite kind. I told her that I’ve been trying really hard to impress you, but none of it’s working. Then she told me that when she started as an Hourglass Minder, she got sandwiches for the rest of the crew, and they really liked that, so I just thought...”

My jaw dropped, despair took over me, how was it possible, how could such an innocuous little girl pull a fast one, on me. It wasn’t even ingenious, smart, or particularly conniving. That greasy little, shifty mechanic had pulled the wool over my eyes, took advantage of my weak-willed assistant, and escaped.

Months and years passed, and we eventually forgot everything; our written records would remind us of who we were and where we had come from, but only while we read them. The moment my eye left the paper the archive was written on, it was all lost, over and over again. Sometimes, I thought I saw that little witch in the crowds, unmasked and raw; a few times, I even grabbed a person over the shoulder, twirling them, absolutely sure it was her. I never did find her and our people never did remember.