The Distant Threshold
The count of the teeth on the great gear was wrong, and Elias Thorne knew it before his fingers even touched the brass, for the rhythm of the click-click-click was a half-beat off, a stutter in the heart of the tower that had been growing louder for three days. He held his breath, the air in the workshop thick with the scent of whale oil and old dust, and watched the pendulum swing with a...
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