The kindly clock maker closes his shop just as the sun begins to set.
And as with most days, he descends to the basement to tinker with an ongoing project, a beautiful carriage clock he had been repairing for weeks. Not for commission, simply for the fun of it.
But just as his tools are laid out, and his bi-optics donned - the man's fun is disrupted by four distinct knocks.
The clocksmith calls out:
"The hour is late, and my minute hand needs tending."
A deliberate pause is felt, before a harsh voice replies:
"Forgive the hour, but my second hand is slowing and time is nearly out. Could the smithy be bothered?"
The old artisan sighed, before replacing his delicate instruments for tools of a clumsier make.
"No bother at all!" The old man replies.
He heads to the back door, burdened with purpose.
It is at this time, like every time before, that he must remind himself: a rebellion without bloodshed, is merely a tantrum.
He had skills, and they were of use to this cause.
And after all, torture isn't so different from mending watches.
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