At Last! A New Character

The story is moving along. Answers need to be found that will provide direction. Some clue needs to exist that will lead the heroes on to the resolution. This story is not so short, is it? Oh well. I plan on writing full-length novels anyway, so I may be better off starting with one.

Onto the story. Let's see if I can pick up the pace a little and get our heroes on the right track without making everything too complicated.

Something caught Danos' eye while he watched his brother disappear into the gathering crowds. He turned and saw what he could have sworn looked like a tiny man disappearing around the corner of the alleyway to his left.

He shook his head and then scratched it. "You really are going crazy." He mumbled to himself, then strode to the alley's entrance and looked down it more closely. He took quiet steps down the narrow path between mismatched brick walls, feeling sillier the further he went.

He began to turn back, certain he had imagined it, when he heard a faint scuffling sound around the corner at the end. It sounded like paper tearing and dragging along rough cobblestone. 'Probably just a rat.' Danos assured himself while he approached the turn as silently as he could manage and peered around the edge of the wall.

"Sure enough." He laughed. There was the rat, dragging a scrap of paper on its back.

At the sound of his voice and laughter, the rodent bolted, shooting right down the alley to the next bend. Danos chuckled at the creature as it still dragged along the patch of old newspaper. 'Must be grimy paper, sticking like that.'

Something deep inside him built up, making him want to act like a kid again. At first, he rejected the thought, but after realizing there was nobody around to see him, he grinned and chased the rodent, letting out a "Ha ha! I'm gonna catch you, rat!"

The rat reached the turn and scurried to the right. A few steps behind, Danos leaped out past the corner and spun to face it with a snarling sound.

The rat had reached a dead end and it was struggling in a corner to run up the walls with no success. Each time it tried, it got a little higher, but fell to the cobblestones, landing on all fours. Realizing that Danos was getting closer, the rat turned around and backed its hind end up into the corner.

Danos lifted one leg high above the ground, then slapped it down, making a loud clap as leather soles slapped stone. The rat jumped two feet into the air, legs reeling, and somehow managed to catch its forelimbs on a gap between bricks. It clung on dearly, but slowly began to lose its grip.

Feeling extra mischeivious, Danos stook another step forward, slapping the other foot down and yelling "Boo!"

The rodent lost it. A damp spot covered the wall as it launched another two feet into the air, flailing its whole body about midair. Through the whole ordeal, the scrap of paper hung on, until the rat finally landed on its back with a loud "OUCH!" It then flipped back onto its feet, and dashed madly between Danos' legs, only to disappear around the corner.

Danos watched it as it left, stunned. 'Did that rat just say...'

"Ow!" A small, though loud, voice repeated from the dead end.

Danos turned back around and stared wide-eyed at the spectacle. Where the rat had fallen was a little man, sprawled out on his back. He managed to sit up, his back making little popping noises, and Danos could see the string tied around his waist which was looped through holes in the paper at each end.

"You've really done it this time!" The little man yelled up at him, which was only as loud as a normal person's talking volume. "You've gone and broke my back at last!" He picked himself off the ground and dusted off his backside.

"Where are you?" Danos managed to say in amazement. It wasn't what he meant to ask, but he was lucky to have gotten out a proper sentence anyway, the way his mind was reeling.

"Where am I?" The man glared up and him. "I'm in the middle of nowhere without a steed, that's where. And its no thanks to you!"

Danos tried forming his mouth into the beginning of another sentence, but failed, looking like a fish out of water.

"Wait. That's not right." The little man held his head. "I mean its ALL thanks to you!" He then crossed his arms and added, "Not that I'm thanking you, mind."

I think I'll stop this here for tonight. Its got momentum and will be much easier to motivate myself to keep the ball rolling as opposed to starting from a lull again.

Plot

Plot. What is plot?

You plot a course, right? Right. The characters are going to go through something, do something, go somewhere. And then we have plot twists. Often against the designs of the protagonist, the plot is changed; a new direction is forced or the reality of the course is made evident, where the protagonist was fooled or unaware.

For my story, the brothers have a plot. They are going to live their life, but the story begins with a twist warned to happen. Before that can even occur, a stranger shows up who takes away any chance to prevent the plot twist. This forces a change of direction. Now the boys are on their own and they have to save their father. They confront the stranger and banish him with newly discovered powers.

This is great for the characters. Things are becoming exciting and easier. That's no good for us, though. We don't want exciting and easier, we want exciting and dramatic! How to fix this? Balance the playing field. The younger brother has a magic power. We just need to make more people with powers who are in opposition to his goals. Let's allow him to assume he is still unique, however. The reveal will be made more dramatic.

The boys got up the next morning and ate a simple breakfast: oatmeal. Without milk or brown sugar or butter. After cleaning up the dishes, they said their farewells to the clock that was their father and headed for town.

"Do you think anyone will really know how to change him back?" Makos asked while flicking a stick around like a whip.

Danos kept his eyes on the dusty road, watching the sunlit patches as they approached them. When they passed into one, warm tingling on his skin pushed away the damp chilly air of the morning. He sighed, and said. "I don't really know, but what else can we do?"

Makos' swings with the stick calmed down to more thoughtful circles aimed at the road.

Danos eyed his brother, then added. "If you think about it, though, chances are someone saw him come into town and talked with him. You know how Baker Jim is. He'd want to welcome a new face in to sample some of his banana nut berry bread. Everyone always buys a loaf once they taste it."

Makos lifted his head and straightened his shoulders. "That's true." He said in an upbeat voice. He ran out in front of Danos and held up open palms, somehow holding the end of the stick with just his thumb. "Wait! You know what? I heard father say the governor arrived yesterday."

Danos smiled broadly. "You're right! That means he was inspected with everyone else. Makos, you're a genius."

Makos put his hands to his hips and showed off all of his teeth with a grin. "That'll teach you to not listen to me more often. What if I hadn't said anything?"

Danos rolled his eyes. "Come on. You have to admit, most of your ideas are kind of..."

"Awesome?" Makos suggested.

"Childish." Danos shrugged.

"Childish?" Makos demanded. "You just don't have any imagination."

Danos raised an eyebrow. "What does imagination have to do with starting a fire so you don't have to do your chores?"

"It was only a little fire!" Makos replied, scowling. "I wasn't anywhere near the stables anyway. You were the one who kicked the embers close enough for the hay to burn up."

"I was too worried trying to make sure you didn't burn yourself to notice how many 'little fires' you had made." Danos said, returning the scowl. "Do you realize how much trouble your fires caused for father? He lost a full day of wages because you couldn't keep out of trouble."

Makos crossed his arms and turned around, walking down the road faster than Danos, only slowing down once he had gotten a few yards.

"Always pouts like a child. Never learns." Danos mumbled to himself.

After an hour of silent walking, the scene of the town seemed to have a magical affect on their moods. It was only every other week their father took them into town. It was already six weeks into August and they hadn't made a trip yet that month, so it felt like a dream.

"I can see banners!" Makos cheered. "They're red and green!"

"Is it already Rune Day?" Danos wondered aloud.

"I can see the shield shop!" Makos said. "It must be!"

"Now that I recall, it did come late March last year, so yeah. It must already be Rune Day, then." Danos had to catch the hem of his brother's coat before Makos went dashing off to the storefronts.

"Remember," He said. "We don't have any money, and we are here to find help for father."

"I know." Makos said, his shoulders slumped a little and his voice lost a little emphasis. "But Maro always has free shields for kids!" He added, grin returning. "Besides, I can ask Maro if he's seen the governor yet today."

"Okay." Danos relented. "Just don't try begging for an extra shield this time. It's not fair to the others."

"I won't." Makos hurried on ahead, leaving Danos shaking his head in disbelief. Had he been as excited as that two years ago? He didn't see what the big deal was now. The shields were only cut-out pieces of scrap wood painted with fake runes.

Check back tomorrow for more!

Free Day #2: Designing Magic

Today I am going to practice coming up with ideas for magic systems following Sanderson's Laws:

Sanderson's First Law defines the difference between hard magic and soft magic. Hard magic has almost scientific restrictions and reasoning whereas soft magic has more loosely defined capabilities.

Sanderson's Second Law states that the restrictions placed upon a magic system inherently make it more interesting as we watch the character work around those restrictions.

Sanderson's Third Law involves limiting the number of abilities so that your characters are forced to learn to use what they have in smart news ways to overcome new situations. Don't just grant them more and more powers for everything that comes up. Put them in a bind and watch as they use their ability in a previously unforeseen way.

Right now, I have two magic systems in my book so far. The clockmaker has something in his cupboard that when people look at it, they turn into grandfather clocks. The younger brother has the second ability, being able to create waves of energy that fling things far away. My story concept is that everyone finds their own unique power, but I believe I can get away with this without breaking the three laws of magic.

Makos will never get another ability, but honestly, it's a great ability already. What does he do when someone tries to attack him? He swings a few waves toward them and they end up a mile away after a rough landing.

What are its limitations? He has to move his limbs to do it, so he can't if he is tied up. By putting him in a situation where he can't move, it will prove his weakness and make things more suspenseful. It can also force him to adapt by testing them capabilities of his power. What if, in a last ditch effort, he discovers that kicking works, too? What if he can cross waves together to create stronger effects?

How about a cost involved in using the power? Maybe he can only do it in the moonlight.

As for the clock transformations, I may want to use this magic more as a soft magic, where it merely puts pressure on the boys, but is never really explored other than finding a cure for it. With soft magic, as Brandon Sanderson suggests, it is better to not let the protagonists use it, at least not successfully. If they do tamper with the power, it should set things back, causing more trouble than its worth, otherwise, it must become a defined hard magic so as to not render the characters without challenges.

Time for a bit of writing practice using incorporating these laws:

The globe exploded into a thousand, multicolored shards of glass.

"Nab Daggit!" Surlon swore while dodging a rather large glass projectile. "Every single time!"

The apprentice scratched his head from the safety of the upper observatory. "Maybe you need to use more gunpowder." The voice crackled over the radio.

Surlon snorted. "More gunpowder? Are you telling me you included gunpowder to this batch?" He brushed bits of glass off his protective leather suit.

"Uh." The radio buzzed. "The recipe called for three hundred grains of GP. That stands for gunpowder, doesn't it?"

Surlon stared at the young man as he slipped off a thick glove, then slapped his forehead. "GP is the bio-alchemical denotation for gouda cheese."

"Cheese?" The apprentice responded. "'G' for gouda, then, but what does the 'P' stand for?"

"'P' stands for cheese." Surlon explained.

"Uh. That makes no sense, sir."

Surlon waved his hand around. "'C' was already taken."

"Ah." The young man replied. After a moment, he asked, "Then what's 'C' stand for?"

"Fish bones."

"I think I am starting to see a pattern here." The apprentice said.

"Good. That's what I am paying you for." Grumbled the old scientist. "I hate to say it, but I may never live to see the day alchemy becomes a practical source of anything useful. If you witness my failures now, you hopefully will not repeat them, saving more time to get closer to the solution."

I am going to have to pick this story back up later. Check back on Monday for a new post!

Making Plans

Continued from yesterday:

"Well," Danos said, "I don't think he will be bothering us again."

Makos let out a nervous chuckle. Danos followed suit. Soon, respective states of shock diffused into raucous laughter. When it died down at last, Danos caught his breath and turned to regard the light brown clock. "What are we going to do?"

Makos sat up from where he had fallen on the grass and placed his forearms over his knees. He stared at the carvings on it, then replied. "What can we do? Father is a grandfather clock now."

"A father clock." Danos corrected.

"Yeah. I guess so." Makos agreed.

Danos rubbed his chin. "I don't know. Do you really think it's him?"

Makos nodded vigorously. "I heard him yell through the glass before it fixed itself."

"Hmm." Danos crossed his arms. "I have no ideas."

"Me neither." Makos added, just before a cold drop of rain landed right on the tip of his nose. He glanced up at the black sky speckled with stars, and a slight breeze rustled through his hair.

Danos followed his gaze. "I suppose for starters, we better bring him inside, just in case."

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

A couple of hours later, the clock rested upright and undamaged in the corner of the den a few feet away from the fireplace. The boys sat on a green and brown woven rug before a toasty flame. Both were soaked and shivering and both studied the clock as it softly ticked and tocked away.

That sound accompanied by a heavy rainfall thumping on the roof shingles seemed to hypnotize the younger boy into a doze. His brother's voice shook him back to consciousness.

"We can try going into town and asking if anyone knows who that man was." Makos watched Danos' expressions in the flickering firelight as he talked. "There has to be someone who knows how to undo this."

Continued tomorrow.

Mixing things up!

Do you ever get bored with a project you are working on? Does it ever lose its excitement? What do you do when that happens?

I definitely have wanted to drop projects before, and done so. The problem with this is that we gain experience by going through the process. If all I ever did was write through acts one and two, then lost steam at act three, I would never learn how to write that third act, how to wrap things up.

This story is getting kind of boring for me, but I don't want to quit. I really want to gain the understanding, so I need to finish it. What's my solution? Either I can drop the project and miss out, or I can mess around and make it fun again. Maybe I will end up destroying the entire story by being too crazy, but why bother writing if I never finish anything?

Let's get crazy!

What are my plans? To answer that, I need to establish what I already have that I like. Alright, then what do I like so far?

I really enjoy the idea of turning people into clocks based on their memories and desires. Its not that exactly that catches my interest. Its more the fantastical magic of it derived from features of the mundane person. What if I had that same principle applied to a lot more scenarios?

My solution, then, is to introduce the emergence of magic in everything and everyone in this world. It is just beginning, but eventually, everyone will be affected. The brothers still have the goal to turn their father back to normal, but they will find the means by delving into their developing abilities that are based off of their traits.

"No thanks." Danos said, stepping back slowly. "Whatever's inside it is what turned him into a clock, isn't it?"

"Oh, but I insist. Here, let me just open this door and you can see for yourself." The old man grabbed the handle and began to pull it open.

Makos couldn't stand it. For all he knew, something inside that cupboard was about to turn his brother into a clock, too. As the door began to swing open, Makos acted on instinct, flinging his hand in front of the old man as he let out a cry of frustration.

Waves of rippling energy flew from Makos' arm. He was stunned as the air shifted and undulated, crawling through the air toward the clockmaker. As the fast-moving waves collided with the old man, they folded around him like a rubber band, pushing his arms to his sides between the rings of waves.

"What the...?" The old man managed to say before the compounding ripples snapped back into straight lines. The waves threw the old man so hard, he flew over the horizon and out of sight in a few seconds.

Makos stood with his arm up and to the side. His mouth hung open as wide as it could go. Danos' shared his expression, looking in the same direction.

"What...?" Makos began.

"...did you do?" Danos finished.

Both looked at Makos' hand, which he pulled in close to his face for immediate inspection. Neither noticed anything different about it. Just a normal hand attached to a normal boy who had done something so abnormal, it was impossible.

OK, folks. Time for some application of yesterday's lesson. I am going to go back and apply some more immersion elements. I'll highlight the parts I change or add.

"No thanks." Danos said, stepping back slowly. "Whatever's inside it is what turned him into a clock, isn't it?"

"Oh, but I insist. Here, let me just open this door and you can see for yourself." The old man grabbed the brass handle and began to pull it open.

Makos' heart began to thump wildly. For all he knew, something inside that tall cupboard was about to turn his brother into a dusty, old, grandfather clock, too. As the door began to squeak open, Makos acted on instinct, flinging his hand in front of the old man as he let out a cry of frustration.

Waves of rippling energy flew from Makos' arm. He was stunned as the air shifted and undulated, turning the color of the air an emerald green while it passed. The waves crawled through the empty air toward the clockmaker, who stopped opening the door once the green ripples stole his attention. As the rapidly pulsing waves collided with the old man, they folded around him tightly like a series of thick rubber bands, pushing his arms to his sides between the rings of waves.

"What the...?" The old man managed to pronounce before the compounding ripples snapped right back into straight lines. The waves tossed the old man so hard, he flew over the horizon and out of sight in a matter of five seconds.

Makos stood with his arm extending to the side. His mouth hung open as wide as it could go. Danos' shared his expression, staring in the same direction.

"What...?" Makos began.

"...did you do?" Danos finished.

Both looked at Makos' extended hand, which he pulled in close to his face for further scrutiny. Neither noticed anything different about it. Just a normal hand attached to a normal boy who had done something so abnormal, it was impossible.

Continued tomorrow!

Free Day #1

Well, to start off this post on the right foot, it turns I made a bad call yesterday. While, yes, I came to the same conclusion as horror story author Dan Wells about character reaction being important, the podcast in which he mentions this happened two months prior... so...

Oh well... maybe next time. Now I get to shake my fist at his portrait on www.WritingExcuses.com for time-traveling in order to foil my master plan.

Let's get on topic. Today I would like to use this Wednesday to mix things up and try something else out before continuing with the current story. Today, I would like to talk about immersion.

What does it mean, immersion? In the world of storytelling of any sort, immersion is the process of cognitively experiencing a different state, independent of your current reality. Pretty simple, right? Basically, it means putting yourself into the shoes of the view-point character.

How does one do this? At what point does one become immersed? The answer is in the senses.

Where are you right now? Think about it and analyze it. Me? I am in my bedroom. How do I know? Well, I can see the four walls and my furniture. I can hear muffled traffic coming from the window. I can feel the carpet under my bare feet and the mattress I am sitting on.

These senses confirm the fact to me that I am in my bedroom. It's a fact because I can prove it with my senses. These senses are constantly rooting me into this world. I have described my 'scene' very roughly. Readers can enter into a book's world by imagining the same sensations as they are described, plus any they add on their own to fill in the blanks.

This is probably the biggest reason I get upset over movie portrayals of books: because the director was in his own version of the world than my version. In my version of the Mistborn trilogy, for example, Ham shares the voice of the generic Nord man in The Elder Scrolls video games. When the movies come out for that series, if they don't use the same voice, I will be thoroughly disappointed!

Anyway, back to the discussion. Want to visit my apartment? Let me create an elaborate scene to serve as your doorway.

The first thing I saw as I entered through the plain wood door was a matching plain wood flooring covering half of the open space; the other half was covered in a short-cropped, beige carpet. As I entered the apartment, I turned to close the door and flipped the stainless steel lock handle shaped like a semi-circle with a pot belly that hung beyond the lock mechanism. I heard the sound of it clunking into place.

At the far wall, a glass sliding door was closed and had vertical blinds pulled across it, which matched the carpeting. The blinds were slightly opened, granting a meager sight at the lawn out back and a concrete block wall. The wall to the left had two doors; three on the right, all hudled in on each other where the wood flooring paved a very short hallway. All doors were closed.

To my right stood an island counter, and beyond it, a series of cabinets were mounted to the wall and butted up against the ceiling. The smell of something slightly burnt wafted across my nostrils, and I turned past the cabinets, counters and sink to face a stove-top oven.

There lay the culprit: a slightly blackened pizza. Closer studying revealed peperoni and sausage had been laid asymmetrically across the pizza. It had already been cut into slices, so I helped myself. Hefting the the weighty slice which began to droop between balancing fingertips, I opened my mouth and swung the dangling cheese and sausage in. It was still warm, and the tangy pizza sauce pronounced itself nicely beside the savory meat and mozzarella flavors.

So there's my kitchen and living room area. The pizza, by the way, is not that fancy, at least in my version. It also burned the roof of my mouth just behind my upped incisors, in case you are interested in knowing such details.

Notice how the details of the apartment are sparse, and the sink is barely mentioned, while I give full attention to the pizza? It's just like a video camera. I rush over things, leaving a motion blur, only settling at certain spots that catch my eye. The pizza is obviously the star of the show, however, and, lucky for you, this camera is equipped with taste, smell, and touch delivery systems as well.

Now, let me create a new scene. This time, I won't blur over much.

"The cave walls were cold and damp, leaving moisture on my hands as I supported myself against them. I had to stoop over in order to progress, occasionally smacking the back of my head on rough or sharp protrusions from the irregularly shaped ceiling. Looking down the tunnel, it made me think of what the inside of a worm looked like, all wrinkly and bumpy and long and dark and covered with the occasional patch of green and tan lichen patterns.

The echoes of my tennis shoes dragging along an identically stone floor sounded hollow and strange, almost muffled. I began to feel claustrophobic. In the beginnings of my panic, I felt adrenaline dump right into my arteries like cold water. I began to move faster, sweating more than I should have been. My armpits grew damp and I felt sweat rolling down the sides of my face. One drop managed to veer into my eyebrow, where it held for a moment, before slipping down into my right eye.

The salt burned my eye and I tried to blink it away to no avail. Growing frustrated, I made the mistake of rubbing my eye with a dry-mud-encrusted forearm, not wanting to get the dirt from my hand in my eye, of all things. I pulled on my shirt roughly and scrubbed everything out of my eye and off my face very quickly, before pulling my shirt back down and huffing.

The shirt pulled at my back as I did so, and I was compelled by my discomfort to adjust the soaked patch of cloth before turning my attention back to the never-ending tunnel. Before I made it even five more feet down the cavern tube, a rebellious drop of sweat shot out of my pour and flew down my forehead, heading for the left eye. In a mad dash to intercept, I slapped my forehead, earning myself an angry headache, only to aide the drop in clearing the runway of my eyebrow, bypassing my nose altogether, and landing in a mouth currently producing curses.

It tasted salty.

I took several deep breaths of the warm, musty air before half-calming myself down, half- growing more claustrophobic. I took a second to consider if the tunnel had gotten smaller, but was rudely interrupted by a clacking noise. As is the case in any never-ending tunnel obviously made by doom worms, I had no way of telling whether the sound came from before me or behind me, only that it wasn't closer than three yards, nor farther than a couple miles, give or take a few inches.

It was then that I noticed my feet were moving to the sides back and forth beneath me. Then they were above me and my back felt the full impact of various edges careening with my spine. All I could remember for a long while was not wanting to get up. That, and the smell of wood smoke.
 
Did I get all of the senses? Sight, hearing, touch, smell and taste. Check! So, did you experience that tunnel? Did you feel and see and smell and taste and hear the same things in your mind? If you did, you were immersed in the scene.

In conclusion, if you are writing a story, but are having trouble finding a sense of connection to it, even though your ideas are marvelous and dialogue is fantastic, perhaps you should consider spicing things up and building all five bridges of sensation to the equation. It takes some thought to get started, but if you keep at it, you'll find it rolls out easily and people's mouths will water when you describe the succulent juicy taste of that first bite of sweet watermelon, or squirm in their seats when you enlist details of how it felt when your main character got a millimeter deep paper cut right across the edge of her lower eyelid. Do I even need to describe how that feels?

The Quest: Part V

I just listened to a podcast at WritingExcuses.com and, as they always say at the end of a 'cast, I'm out of excuses, now I must go and write! So here I go and write! Yes. Writing. Definitely doing it. Okay. This counts, right?

Let's focus today on something discussed on the podcast I just listened to: personalities! How to differentiate characters and make them stand out and be unique! I gave myself a high-five, which turned out like an awkward clap, when Dan Wells mentioned how characters become more distinct when you see their subtle reactions. Source: Season 10, Episode 7 ~9:45. Oh yeah! I totally said that before he did! ... At least this time! Another achievement earned!

At least this time! Now is when I compare my writing skill to Master Wells' and we all have a good laugh and then I run home and cry under my bed. But enough about me, let's move on to the story! While implementing Dan's advice of adding subtle reactions!

"By now," the clockmaker said, "You will have certainly noticed an odd feeling. Am I right? Can't quite move as well as you once could, hmm?"

"What are you-" Mr. Highwhistle began to ask, but what cut short as a loud noise like wood plank groaning under stress interrupted.

"Filnewood, very nice. You are off to a great start, Mr. Whistle."

"What is this magic? Stop this!"

 The stranger chuckled in harmony with the sound of cracking glass. "You assume much. Why should I? Have I not kept my part of the bargain? Now, you are keeping yours."

"I didn't agree to this! Please, just-" More creaking cut him short.

Makos was about to dash out, turning back to make sure his brother wasn't watching, but realized Danos was just disappearing around the clock himself. Makos ran after him.

Both boys stopped in their tracks. Before them stood the stranger dressed in an ornate, purple and black cape with black pants, dark leather shoes, a fancy dress shirt that flared rather far at the collar, and a red hat that was crowned with a circle of feathers from various kinds of birds. He held a red coat beneath one arm, and the other hand was holding a large pocket watch, which was chained to his brown leather belt.

The man stood beside a grandfather clock, which was facing the man, but the direction Makos had run around their cover had brought him to stand where he could easily see the front of it. It was made of a blonde wood with decorations carve up and down it of horses of different kinds all posed as if galloping outward from the glass pane in the center of the door.

Makos was not quite angled so as to see through that pane very well, nor see past the moonlight glare at the face of the clock, but he could see a crack down the center of it.

To his amazement, Makos heard his father's voice yell as if from inside a closed room. "Run!" A loud sound of breaking glass peeled out as the crack in the clock face uncracked, sealing itself up so as to make it impossible to know it had ever been there.

"What did you do?!" Danos yelled. "How did you-" he seemed to not believe he was asking that question, and instead asked another. "Where is my father?!"

The stranger turned his gaze to the older boy and smiled. He spoke up in a cheerful mood. "Ah yes! I was just showing these fine clocks to Mr. Whistle when all of a sudden we came across one he particularly liked. He must have got it into his mind that he would like to buy it. Perhaps he has gone off to the bank to collect some funds so that he might fulfill his desire."

"Wha?" Danos said breathlessly. "At nine-o-clock?!"

The man nodded at the blonde wood clock. "Nine-o-nine, actually, it seems."

"You're a liar!" Makos screamed. "I heard it! You turned him into a clock!"

"I do not lie." The man spoke the words angrily, then continued in a softer tone. "I simply report things as I perceive them, and I say your father is no longer here. As for turning someone into a clock." He sniffed. "What nonsense. I can't do that. What are you trying to say? That you believe in wizardry?" He clicked his tongue. "Unbecoming of a young man if he is to grow up to become a fine horse trainer like his father."

Danos stepped forward, staring up at the clockmaker intensely before stating, "I don't know what you did, but our father is gone, and you are behind the reason." Makos eyed his brother carefully. He had never seen Danos act so serious or angrily before.

"I'd like to see you produce evidence of that." The man snickered.

"What's in the wardrobe?" Danos asked.

"Ah." The man said. "Please, why don't you have a look?"

That's it for tonight, folks. To be continued.