Rain poured off the umbrella in torrents, to the point where it was hard to support. Luckily the downpour was without wind, or Roberts was certain he’d be soaked through. He stepped carefully but quickly along the sidewalk, trying his damnedest to keep his feet dry—drier, at least. He’d stepped in a puddle three streets back, making his dress shoes squelch uncomfortably as he strode onward. He felt eyes on him from inside the shops, where the rest of the people were hiding from the fury that was a long overdue summer storm. He could already hear the whispers in his mind. Is he mad? In this weather?
Normally, he’d join them. Normally, he wasn’t offered the chance of a lifetime.
He scanned the street, fighting to see through the nigh impenetrable rain. After far too much searching, Precious Antiquities appeared to his left, across the street. The store was as broken down in appearance as the name was grandiose.
Roberts searched the street for any sign of movement before he risked darting across. No bold cabbie appeared to run him down, but he managed to find another puddle to step in before reaching the protection of the store’s awning.
Folding his umbrella, Roberts indulged himself in a disgusted sigh. He did wish he were dry, but if what he’d been offered was real, it would be more than worth the soaking. He shook off the umbrella one more time before opening the door.
The edge of the door hit a bell, which rang out clearly through the shop. Roberts dripped as he proceeded into the cramped, dusty space, knowing it was rude to dampen their wares but too excited to resist. He glanced around the shop, lit only by candlelight, and breathed in the musty smell—an odd scent after the freshness of the rain. Roberts stifled a sneeze, his enthusiasm waning slightly as he was kept waiting.
The owner of the store, an aging, heavy set man, appeared from a back room, violently slamming the door behind him. He scowled at Roberts in such a way that the young man felt as if he would have been better off staying outside. “Put your coat and umbrella on the counter before you ruin my books,” he snarled.
Roberts blinked. He had been about to ask after the item of his interest; his train of thought was now successfully derailed. “I—terrible sorry.”
The man glared at him while he fumbled off his jacket. As he was setting it aside, the man slammed his hand on the counter, making him jump. He looked cruelly amused as Roberts pressed a hand to his chest to calm his frantic heart. “So. Pocket watch, you said.”
“I heard you had a rather particular pocket watch,” Roberts stressed.
The man snorted. He was quite uncouth. Roberts could almost believe he was a pawn broker, rather than an antiquary. “A particular pocket watch. Of course.”
He pulled his hand back, revealing a beautifully detailed pocket watch. It was silver, studded with decorative marcasite in the form of a spray of flowers. Curling filigree was carved into its surface, complementing the designs of the dark metallic crystals.
“It’s a time travelling device. Call it what it is. None of this coy garbage.” The man snorted again. “A particular pocket watch.”
Roberts cleared his throat awkwardly, his attention pulled away from the lovely design. “So, it is the one I’ve heard about?”
“Want proof?” he demanded, belligerent.
Roberts blinked. “I would certainly appreciate that, yes.”
The store owner smirked at him, before grabbing his hand. Roberts jolted at his touch, at the man’s rough hands locked on his. He dragged him forward a step, closing both their hands around the watch and pressing the latch release. Filigree hands froze as he pulled out the crown, and the man jerked his head at the window.
Roberts glanced at him quizzically before following his nonverbal direction. His eyes widened as he saw the rain outside. It had frozen in place, every last droplet motionless in midair. “Remarkable,” he breathed, suitably impressed.
The man rolled his eyes and twisted the crown of the pocket watch violently. Roberts felt a lurch as he moved through time, watching in utter shock as the deluge lifted itself off the streets in a heartbeat, the sun brightening the dirt-encrusted windows of the shop significantly. “This is half past seven, roughly,” the man announced, letting Roberts gasp in a few breaths to recover.
He twisted the dial the other way just as roughly. The torrent came down in an instant with the sound of a flood, the sky darkening. It was an event of Biblical proportions, and it struck Roberts quite suddenly what, exactly, he was attempting to purchase. He was afraid at first, but he soon began to see the glimmering possibilities such a device could open to him.
The man tugged the watch away from him. “Now, we need to talk about the rules.”
“Rules?” Roberts asked.
The man raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You didn’t think you could have something like this without caveats, did you?”
“I…well, I must admit I didn’t put overmuch thought into it. I wish to acquire the device for my research, nothing more.”
The man raised his other eyebrow. “Rules. Don’t work too hard to change things. If you’re having trouble doing what you want, find another way around it or give up. Don’t go further into the future than what you’re already familiar with. It’s a dangerous choice. Do not break it. After you’re done with it, sell it back to me and me alone.”
Roberts gave a shocked little laugh. “Done with it? When would I ever be done with it? It would provide enough material for a lifetime of research.”
“…Research. Right.” The man spoke in a patronizing, disbelieving tone.
Roberts was, quite frankly, getting more than a little vexed with him. He sniffed sternly, before asking the all-important question. “What is your asking price?”
“Five hundred.”
Roberts couldn’t hold back a wince, but he had expected a number like that. The item truly was priceless. He reached into his innermost pocket and withdrew the required bills. He set them on the counter, accepting the watch in exchange. Slipping it into the same pocket as his money, he pulled on his coat and turned to go without even a farewell.
“What’s her name?”
Roberts froze with his hand on the door handle. He swallowed hard. “What?” he asked, his voice quavering. He shifted his grip on his umbrella, watching the rain pounding against the street. He could feel the watch tick next to his chest once, twice—
He fled, and the man’s roar of laughter was cut off behind him by the closing door.
When Roberts returned to Precious Antiquities, it was with slumped shoulders and a downcast expression.
“Didn’t work, huh?”
He glanced up at the proprietor, leaning at the counter next to some antique books, reading through one of them. He chose not to dignify that comment with a response. “I would like to return a purchase, sir.”
“Five hundred, right?” He pulled out a stack of bills, setting them on the counter. Roberts set the pocket watch next to him, and took the money instead. It was a paltry comfort after the hours, and hours of repeated heartache he had been subjected to. He almost considered allowing the man to keep the money, but slipped it into his pocket with a sigh. Refusing it would have been ridiculously impractical.
The man examined the watch carefully before glaring at him. “You scratched it.”
Roberts almost laughed. He had tried to crush it, had taken a hammer to it, and had thrown it off the highest building in the city. He had considered traveling to the ocean just to drop it in. He had even considered giving it away or trying to sell it to someone else, just out of spite against the one who had sold it to him, but he refused to inflict such pain on some unsuspecting soul. The watch was a demonic creation; it would allow you to change only the smallest things. It would not make you rich, it would not gain you power, and it certainly wouldn’t allow you to find love. Roberts hated that watch.
The man sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. “Too bad things didn’t work out for you. Doesn’t mean it’s impossible for them to work out for you in the future.”
Roberts turned away without a word once again. There was nothing to say.
Tyrosono Gleeford-Smith ran his thumb over the scratch on his watch, shaking his head, amused. He’d have to zip ahead nearly a thousand years to get his small model time traveller fixed. Then again, he’d already spent nearly a year in the century leading up to the first Industrial era. It was about time he took a break from his “writing research.”
He checked the mini-recorder stored in the traveller, and smiled. Almost another month of dramatics. His entertainment show would have enough material for another three episodes with that. What a lovely lot of money it would earn him!
A.C.Franklin Fiction 
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