The Wistful Grid
14 October 1892 "It is a violation of the contract, Master Thorne. The gear ratio is off by a fraction. Disassemble the mechanism now." The steward’s voice is dry as old parchment. He stands in the doorway of the workshop, his hands clasped behind his back, blocking the thin October light. I do not look at him. I look at the Great Chime, the brass teeth of the escape wheel catching the dust...
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