excerpt: chapter 5

di here.
i am posting the fifth and last chapter. don't be sad, though, because i have an idea for a great story. possibly i can put up excerpts of the adventures of sir ribbit, another of my books. or maybe something from future, yet another of my books.
and if you have read any of these other clock of fate excerpts, you know what i'm going to say.
keep up the comments.

Chapter 5  

A nervous-looking Elliot rushed to Abigail’s room, wondering why Carol was looking so happy, and fearing what he must do.  What he was not expecting, however, was a blue-clad Abigail, curled snugly in her pillows, who was perfectly alert but looked slightly nervous and ill.

He stood in the doorway, unsure what to do, when Abigail made a soft, fearful noise, as though she had noticed a bloody axe, and spoke in an anxious whisper.

“What should I do now?”

“I believe I am to take you to the feast,” replied Elliot.

“I’m hungry.”

“Good.  Carol, your caretaker, is waiting.”

Anxious to meet this fabled Carol, but still not able to put weight on her feet, Abigail met a dilemma.  After a few tries, she could stand, and Elliot then supported her to walk.  She shuffled out the door and found her blue shoes helped her walk.  She got to the kitchen and nearly collapsed again.

Carol was not the kind of old farmwife who sold magic herbs in the market square, like Abigail supposed.  She was a slim woman of sixteen, wearing robes of lapis lazuli like Elliot's tunic.  She also, like everyone else, was staring at Abigail.

Abigail blushed.

Emma bustled around, testing a few stews, tasting some cereal, nibbling kernels of cheese.  One of her kitchen babies sat dreamily tasting way too much stew, and Emma jerked him out of the pot.  Carol guided Abigail to her seat.  Elliot, strangely enough, glanced toward Carol and quickly began to set the table.

The place settings were mismatched.  The kitchen babies got a mix of ceramic; Elliot got a china clock-shaped plate with clock-theme silverware and cup; Carol, Abigail noticed, was the neatest.  She had fine china decorated with clocks, and golden silverware.  Her napkin Elliot painstakingly folded into her teacup.  Abigail’s herself was a clear glass bowl on a small glass plate.  A glass teacup stood nearby.  Sheldon’s setting was translucent colorful glass.

They feasted heartily.  Abigail ate more cornflakes, bacon, raspberries, and orange juice.

After the feast, Carol helped Sheldon and Abigail pack. They said goodbye, and Elliot accompanied them to a hidden, magical door that would lead them into their own home of five children (including Sheldon and Abigail) that was truly home.  All was well. 

                 

THE END

excerpt: chapter 4

di here.
here is the second chapter i have posted today. it is number 4. i will post number five soon.
as i always say, keep up the great comments!

Chapter 4

Sheldon did not get used to life.  He sent letters home, but got no response.  The best food he could wish for seemed tasteless.  He could not get bored, but there were times when he could not work.  Emma gave him anything from her sweet stock, but the sugar rush was skipped and went straight to the dumps.  He could not visit Abigail anymore.  She was too delicate to have anyone but Carol in the same room.

Every day Abigail grew worse.  Elliot, the young man who had brought news to the workshop, had taught Sheldon how to make clocks.  Now he spent his time tinkering with pieces Elliot brought to him, making small figures that walked, danced, and played games.

He was in his room, playing chess with the most intricate figure, a clockwork toy named Sidney, when he heard a knock on the door.  It was Emma.

“Um, Sheldon,” she said, “I bring bad news.  Carol cannot fix the clock.  She cannot remove the clock, because that would kill the patient.  If she cannot remove the clock, she cannot fix it.  I’m so sorry.”

Sheldon did not respond.  It could not have happened. Abigail could not be gone.  But he knew if Carol could not, no one could.  She was the best clockmaker.

Sheldon suddenly heard a voice in his head.  It said, is Carol truly the best clockmaker?  Has she made any figures like mine, better than mine?

“Emma, has Carol made any figures of clockwork?” said Sheldon.

Emma shook her head.  “No. Not any as good as yours.”

A bubble of hope rose inside him.  Abigail would be saved.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next evening, he sat working on the most intricate clock he had ever built.  He told no one of his plan, worried he would be put off.

He worked by candlelight.  He had spent the morning napping, for it was vital he stay awake.  He had spent the afternoon praying, to keep Abigail alive.  And now he worked.

By midnight, he had slipped out.  He tiptoed down the passageway, clutching the clock in his hand.  He arrived outside Abigail’s door.  A peek through a crack in the door confirmed she was alone.

He crept in.  Abigail was on her side, her hands under her cheek.  She looked deathly pale.

Sheldon went to check her pulse, but remembered she had no heart.  Her clock was the heartbeat.

He gently, carefully, softly turned her on her back.  The broken clock glinted in the moonlight.

He pulled out the silent clock he had made.  He wound it.

The merrily ticking sound filled the room.  It sounded cruel, cruel to the lifeless form in the bed.  He listened to the sound, and then bent over Abigail.  He grasped the clock in her breast, and tugged.

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting – blood?  But a skin-covered hollow, a pothole, was in the smooth skin.  A single golden metallic cord rose from the center, right where the winding gear was.  He connected the two and placed the new clock where the old one had been in the hollow.

The clock ticked happily.  Sheldon felt a slight breeze touch his hand.  He realized Abigail was breathing!

He ran and fetched a chair from his room.  He set the chair near the bed and watched Abigail until morning.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That morning, Emma raced to Carol’s rooms.  “The boy –fixed the girl’s clock! – She’s alive! – The boy – he did it – it was him I say –”

Carol jolted awake.  She had had a lovely dream.  Abigail awoke and there was a feast in rejoice.  She told Emma so, and Emma shook her head.

“Nah,” she said, “that’s true!  I was yelling it to you a minute ago, that boy he’s got clockwork power I do tell you! He made her a new clock!” Emma ran out of breath. She continued: “I snuck past her door just now, and he was gently shaking her, and she seemed to be stirring!  I need to make breakfast!”

Sheldon, who had sensed Emma’s delighted gaze, hurried to his room.  Abigail, left in the room herself, stirred.  She opened her violet eyes, blinked, and found herself in a lovely room with clockwork on the wall.  A small, pudgy girl came in presently.

“I’m glad you’re awake, Abigail,” she said.  “I am Emma. You have been out for weeks.  I fed you myself;” added Emma, looking proud, “but Carol and Sheldon fixed your clock.”

The blurry memory of Sheldon catching her as she fell unconscious slowly came back.  She felt slightly ill and cold then, so Emma helped her into bed and produced a bowl of cornflakes and a glass of apple juice.  When she was finished, Emma helped her into a blue puffy-sleeved and –skirted knee-length dress with white pants and socks and blue shoes. She looked lovely.

Then Emma headed to the feast her kitchen babies were preparing, while Carol sent Elliot to bring Abigail to the kitchen.

      

excerpt: chapter 3

di here.
so much for putting up 3 chapters yesterday. perhaps i can do that today.
this is chapter number 3. later i can post up numbers 4 and 5, the last chapters.
as usual, i ask you to continue writing great comments!

Chapter 3

        Sheldon’s suspicions were correct: there was another door leading outside.  He carried Abigail out and suddenly saw a signpost that hadn’t been there before.

To Carol the Clock-Maker

All Magical and Unusual Clocks

 Abigail’s clock is certainly unusual, if not magical, thought Sheldon.  I hope it’s not too far.  He set off to Carol’s clock-shop, wondering how far and long he needed to walk.

He set Abigail down, deciding to check her supposedly broken clock.  He looked, and there was the strange timepiece. It no longer made a ticking sound, however faint, and the single hand was perfectly still, pointing at the twelve.  He could only suppose that meant ‘mortal peril.’

Suddenly a young woman, perhaps sixteen, raced down the path.

“I’m assuming she’s another of those girls with the clocks, banged it up or something – oh my goodness!”

She hurriedly bent over Abigail and checked the clock.  A grim look spread over her face.

“I do hope I can cure her,” she said.  “Often, with a scratch, I just repair the scratched section.  But the very gears have broken, and if the clock breaks down, so does the child. These clocks are the persons’ heart and brain.  Emma!  I need your help!” The woman called down the twisting road.

A small, chubby figure appeared running towards them.

“Yes, Mistress Carol! I’ve got the kit!” cried the little girl. She looked younger than the twins, perhaps three.  Emma handed over a large drawstring bag, which clanked loudly.

“Good, Emma.  Take the boy back.  I’ll get the girl.”

Emma hurried away with Sheldon and Carol was left with Abigail.  She reached into her bag and drew out a clock.

“Oh, help.  Help me save the girl.  Oh Holder of the Clock of Fate, I pray to you to save your daughter.  I pray to save the girl.” Carol lifted Abigail up and carried her down the path, to a dark wooden mansion.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sheldon was sitting in a large room filled with overstuffed couches and tables.  They all faced a central fireplace, and over the fire, set into the wall, was a huge clock.  Its face was twenty feet in diameter at least, perhaps longer, and there was a single hand that was twice as long as Sheldon was tall.  No, not one hand, one thick one and – strangely enough – a hundred other, thinner hands, most moving gently from one number to another, all ticking in unison.

A small figure was bent over the fire.  At first thought Sheldon assumed she was tending it, but then realized she was praying hard.

“Oh Holder of the Clock of Fate, let her live, let her live, let her live, let her live, let her live.” The chant was repeated. “Oh Holder of the Clock of Fate, let her live, let her live, let her live, let her live, let her live.”

Sheldon knelt on his chair and imitated.  “Oh Holder of the Clock of Fate, let her live, let her live, let her live, let her live, let her live.”  He realized he was praying for Abigail, and redoubled the force of his chant.  “Oh Holder of the Clock of Fate, let her live, let her live, let her li -”

Just then, the doors burst open.  “Come, Sheldon!”

Carol beckoned.  She led him through a series of twisting passages.  Doors lined the walls.

“We are practically empty,” she said.  “It’s lucky: she’s the only patient here, and we can use everyone.  But it’s unlucky as well, because it will still take a month.”

Thank goodness, the wedding is in six weeks, thought Sheldon.  But he was still troubled.

“What is the cost of the repair?” he asked.

“There is no cost to save my sister,” she said, and pulled down her dress so he saw the glint of an identical clock.  “She’s my half-sister to be exact.”

Carol stopped at a wooden door in the marble walls.  She pushed it open.

Baby-blue wallpaper lined the walls.  A huge window and window seat were on the opposite wall.  On the left was a white shelf with a collection of wooden clocks.  On the right was a canopy bed with white curtains, drawn back, and Abigail lay on it.

The white covers were drawn to her chin, and she wore a long-sleeved blue-and-white striped nightgown.  It was V-necked, so her clock was exposed.  Abigail looked simply and peacefully asleep.

Oh Holder of the Clock of Fate, let her live, let her live, let her live, let her live, let her live, thought Sheldon.

Carol continued on down the passage.  She stopped at another door.

“This is your room,” she said.  Sheldon looked around.

On the walls, which were painted dark green, hung an assortment of clocks.  An emerald-curtained four-poster stood in the corner.  Bookshelves, a table, and a wardrobe filled most of the room, and a window let light dance in.

“I’ll be back,” she said.  “Make yourself at home.”

Sheldon sighed.  He had no idea what was going on.

“I’ll be back to give you the tour.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few hours later, Carol gave Sheldon the tour.  It was pretty simple.  There was the kitchen, a giant stone room filled with cooking ware.  A bunch of young girls and boys, Emma included, were scrubbing dishes and stewing meat and carrots.  There was the room Sheldon had seen before, with the clock.  That was the timekeeping room.  There was another room, too.

“This is the workshop,” said Carol.

 There was an innumerable amount of clockwork, scattered here and there, piled up, on the floor, all taken apart. A few entire clocks were stacked in a pile.

Suddenly, a young man burst through the doorway.  He wore a blue tunic, the precise shade of lapis lazuli as Carol’s dress.  He looked tired.

“Carol,” he panted, “she’s worse.  We’ve transferred Megan from cleaning to nurse duty, and Leah is helping. Emma offered to make a bowl of soup – bean, I think.  You need to get there fast.”

Carol swept out of the room with a grim look on her face, and the man following, and Sheldon thought of what the family would think if Abigail was dead.