Buoyed by their success with Mrs. Gable, the trio moved through Twilight's Ember, a whirlwind of observation and intention. Alice felt her magical alarm clock pulse with a steady, strengthening beat, guiding her towards the next discord. Sam, invigorated by the "empirical data" of emotional realignment, chattered excitedly about scaling his synchronizer. Terra Luna, ever serene, offered quiet observations about the deepening shadows, the subtle shifts in the air, and the way the town's communal heartbeat faltered with each unaddressed fear.
Their next destination was obvious: The Mariner's Arms. Even from a distance, the pub felt wrong. Its usually boisterous energy was muted, replaced by a sullen quiet. The faint scent of ale was tinged with something metallic and bitter. And the grand grandfather clock inside, Old Bartholomew as the proprietor called it, seemed to emanate a faint, low hum of misery.
Alice remembered the melody she'd heard from it just days ago, a mournful, beautiful tune. Now, as they stepped closer, she could sense a heavier presence. The air around the pub felt thick, laden with unspoken burdens.
They pushed open the heavy oak door. The interior was dim, the fire in the hearth smouldering rather than roaring. A few patrons sat nursing their drinks in silence, their shoulders hunched. And behind the bar, polishing a tankard with an absentminded, almost sorrowful air, was Bartholomew himself. His usually booming laugh was absent, his usually jovial face etched with a deep, weary frown.
Hovering over Bartholomew, its shadowy form a palpable weight, was a fright sprite unlike the others. This one was grander, more imposing, with a heavy, velvet cloak that seemed to absorb the light. Its face was obscured by deep shadows, but from beneath its hood, countless spectral question marks flickered and swirled like a flock of agitated ravens. This was The Duke of Unanswered Questions, or as Alice understood it, Regret. It whispered continuously, not loudly, but with an insidious insistence, pointing to past choices, missed opportunities, and the crushing weight of what ifs.
The grand grandfather clock, Old Bartholomew, stood in the corner, its mighty pendulum swinging with a hesitant, almost juddering motion. Its tick was laboured, irregular, like a heart struggling under a heavy burden. The beautiful melody Alice had heard before was still there, but now it was distorted, fragmented, punctuated by sharp, discordant notes, like a song constantly interrupted by a sigh.
"Bartholomew?" Alice ventured, her voice cutting through the gloom.
The proprietor looked up, startled, his eyes cloudy. "Alice, dear. And… Professor Noctis, and Miss Luna. To what do I owe this… unusual visit?" His voice was flat, devoid of its usual warmth.
"Good afternoon, Bartholomew," Sam declared, bustling in, his portable synchronizer already whirring. "We've detected a significant temporal irregularity emanating from your establishment! A most intriguing phenomenon! It seems your splendid grandfather clock, Old Bartholomew, is exhibiting a severe case of… rhythmic desynchronization!"
Bartholomew merely sighed, a deep, shuddering sound that made The Duke of Unanswered Questions ripple with satisfaction. "That old thing. Been acting peculiar for weeks. Sometimes it just… stops. And then starts again, as if it's forgotten what time it is."
Sam, already kneeling beside the massive clock, connected his probes. "Indeed! The internal oscillations are wildly erratic! But fear not, Bartholomew! My chronometer-synchronizer is designed precisely for such recalibrations!" He began to adjust knobs and peer into lenses, muttering calculations.
Alice and Terra approached Bartholomew. "Bartholomew," Terra began gently, her voice calm and reassuring, "you seem… burdened. Is there something on your mind?"
Bartholomew hesitated, then leaned against the bar, looking out at the grey sea visible through the pub's small windows. "It's nothing, Miss Luna. Just… old memories, I suppose. The sea brings them back. A long time ago, I had a chance, a real chance, to sail beyond these shores. To seek out a life of adventure, not just serving ale in a dusty pub. But I… I stayed. For a reason that seemed important then, but now… I just don't know. And every time Old Bartholomew ticks, it's like it's counting off all the years I didn't go. All the ships I watched leave without me."
As he spoke, Alice saw The Duke of Unanswered Questions swell, its shadowy question marks swirling more furiously, whispering accusations of cowardice, of wasted potential. It was feeding on Bartholomew's deep-seated regret.
Suddenly, Sam let out a frustrated cry. "Confound it! The readings are… unstable! The temporal flux is beyond my current calibration! I can't get a lock on the true frequency! It's like the clock is fighting me, resisting recalibration!" He wiped sweat from his brow. "Alice! Your alarm clock! I need its stable resonance! It's the only consistent temporal anchor I have!"
Alice took out her magical alarm clock, its soft, internal glow a beacon in the dim pub. She held it out to Sam, who placed it carefully on the floor beside Old Bartholomew, connecting a new array of wires.
Sam adjusted a dial, and the magical alarm clock began to hum, its beautiful, clear melody now resonating through the air. But as its song mingled with the distorted rhythm of Old Bartholomew, the grandfather clock did not stabilize. Instead, its erratic tick grew even more violent, almost a desperate thrashing. The Duke of Unanswered Questions pulsed erratically, as if both threatened and somehow amplified by the conflicting temporal energies.
"It's no good, Alice!" Sam exclaimed, pulling back from his machine. "The frequencies are clashing! I can't force it! There's an underlying… resistance! Like the clock itself is clinging to its dysfunction! I can't fix it with just mechanical means! It needs something more!" He looked at Alice, a rare look of defeat on his face. "It needs your… your unique connection. You must hear its true rhythm, not just measure it."
Alice understood. The clock wasn't just a mechanism; it was intertwined with Bartholomew's very soul, reflecting his internal turmoil. She knelt, placing her hand gently on the smooth, worn wood of Old Bartholomew's case, letting her fingers drift towards the area where the beautiful, broken melody seemed to emanate. She closed her eyes, focusing, not on the gears, but on the fragmented song, the discordant sighs. And through it, she felt Bartholomew's regret, a cold knot in his heart, tightening its grip on the clock's internal rhythm.
"Bartholomew," Alice said, her voice soft, her eyes still closed, "the clock isn't just counting years. It's echoing your regret. It's stuck in the past, just like you are right now."
Terra stepped forward, her gaze unwavering. "You stood at a crossroads, Bartholomew. Every life has them. A choice made is not a choice lost; it is simply a path taken. What was the reason you stayed?"
Bartholomew looked at them, then back at the sputtering clock. The Duke of Unanswered Questions hovered, ready to reinforce his gloom. "My mother," he whispered, his voice thick. "She was ill. I couldn't leave her. I promised her I'd stay and keep the pub running."
"And you kept that promise," Alice murmured, her hand still on the clock. "You chose compassion. You chose love. That's not a regret, Bartholomew. That's a strength. That's who you are."
"And look around you," Terra urged, gesturing to the silent patrons, the familiar, comforting walls of the pub. "This is your legacy. This is where you bring warmth and community to Twilight's Ember. Your life here is not lesser; it is simply different. The Duke of Unanswered Questions wants you to believe that other paths were better, but you chose this one, and you poured your heart into it."
Bartholomew looked from Terra to Alice, then his gaze fixed on the magical alarm clock, glowing gently on the floor. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "It was a good life," he said, his voice gaining strength. "My mother… she recovered, for a time. She was proud of this place. And I… I have seen things here too. Stories. Laughter. Friendships forged over these very tables." As he spoke, a powerful emotion, a quiet acceptance, began to bloom within him.
Alice felt the shift. The cold knot in the clock's heart began to loosen. The beautiful, mournful melody of Old Bartholomew, which had been fractured by discord, began to mend itself, its notes flowing more smoothly, the sighs fading. The Duke of Unanswered Questions wavered, its spectral question marks growing faint, its shadowy cloak fraying at the edges. It was losing its grip.
"The past cannot be rewritten, Bartholomew," Alice said, opening her eyes, looking directly at him. "But your future here, now, can be filled with purpose. Let the clock move forward. Let it count the happy times, the connections you still make. You chose love, Bartholomew. That's a path to be proud of."
Bartholomew nodded slowly, a single tear tracing a path down his cheek, but his eyes were clearer now, lighter. "Aye," he said, his voice resonating with a newfound peace. "You're right, Alice. I chose love. And there's no shame in that." He looked around his pub, a faint smile touching his lips. "I wonder if old Man Fitzwilliam wants another pint?"
As acceptance bloomed in Bartholomew's heart, Alice felt the great clock beneath her hand shudder, then re-engage with a profound, resonant tick-tock. The discordant notes vanished from its melody, replaced by a deep, flowing harmony. The Duke of Unanswered Questions gave a final, desperate twitch, then dissolved into nothingness, its question marks unspooling into fine, silvery mist that vanished into the air.
Sam, who had been watching, mouth agape, sprang into action. "It's happening! The resonance! It's stabilizing! The emotional recalibration is complete! Astounding!" He frantically adjusted his machine, and with a series of satisfying clicks and whirs, Old Bartholomew began to tick with a magnificent, steady beat, its grand chime now clear and resonant, perfectly in sync with the magical alarm clock.
The silence in the pub was broken not by Bartholomew's sigh, but by a quiet sigh of relief from the patrons. A few of them looked up, as if shaking off a slumber. The air felt lighter, the aroma of ale suddenly more inviting.
Bartholomew, standing taller, looked at the clock, then at Alice, Sam, and Terra. A booming laugh, his true laugh, filled the pub. "Well, I'll be! That's the sound I remember! The sound of a life well-lived, here and now! Drinks on the house, my friends! And Alice, Sam, Terra… what can I ever do to repay you?"
Alice merely smiled, feeling the steady beat of the town's heart strengthening, one restored soul, one mended clock, at a time. The battle against Night Terror was long, but with each fear vanquished, the light grew brighter.
To be continued…