The Golden Quest
The brass escapement lay in my palm, cold and slick with oil, a small dead thing that had once kept time for half of London. I held it up to the slanting light of the workshop, turning it over, looking for the flaw the inspector had marked in red ink. It was there, a hairline fracture no wider than a eyelash, invisible to the naked eye but fatal to the Guild’s standards. I set it down on the...
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