The Wistful Dinner
The escapement was missing three teeth. I counted them again, holding the brass wheel up to the gaslight, my fingers slick with oil and sweat. Three teeth. The mechanism that would drive the Great Meridian Clock for the next century depended on a part that did not exist in my inventory. I had forty-two years of precision in my wrists, but my hands were shaking, a tremor that had started in the...
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