Clockwork
by PonyJosiah13
First published
A simple pocketwatch given to Time Turner to repair puts him and his family in jeopardy when the mob comes knocking.
Time Turner owns a simple clock and watch repair shop in Ponyville. The kind of place where nothing bad could ever happen: nopony in their right mind would ever consider that he and his wife and daughter would get tangled in crime and gangs.
But when a mysterious stranger leaves a pocketwatch with Time Turner for an urgent repair, he suddenly finds himself and his family endangered by organized crime thugs.
With Phillip Finder at their side, Time Turner and Derpy are determined to get to the bottom of this dangerous affair...before time runs out for them.
The Phillip Finder series
The Pony in the Gray Trilby
The Everfree Forest Affair
Time Flies
The Blue Moon Brings Death
Letters to a Candymare
The Face in the Darkness
Checkmate
Secret of the Mare Lisa
The Sun Falls
Clockwork
Behind Locked Doors
Siege of Clovenworth
The Silent Fugitive
Curse of the Taverneigh Blue
Mystery on the Mareish Moors
The Grilled Cheese and the Muletese Falcon
Trifle Not With Monsters
The Fillydelphia Solution
The Sydneigh Ritual
Endgame
Part 1: The Watch
A beam of sunlight through the window caught the glass face of a polished pocketwatch. Time Turner held the watch up to his ear, checking the ticking against his own watch. Perfect: precisely synchronized and running like...well, like clockwork. With a contented smile, Turner placed the watch back into its slot in the velvet box amongst the rest of the small watches. He then put the top on the box, spun the box clockwise twice and placed it in the drawer behind the counter of his shop, placing it so that it wasn't touching any of the drawer walls and shutting the drawer gently. Perfect.
The impeccably clean and precisely organized Turner's Timepiece & Repair Shop in Ponyville carried examples of every timepiece that one could think of, from hourglasses (each of which had precisely counted sand reservoirs) to grandfather clocks that let out a baritone click with every passing second. With a happy sigh, Time Turner looked around the shop. Everything was exactly in it's place and all perfectly synchronized.
There was a customer in the store, a skinny seedy-looking brown unicorn with a messy manecut that hung down over his face. He was looking over a collection of expensive watches in a locked display case. Each of the watches was placed precisely the same distance from each other, the faces set at the exact same angle. Gems encrusted in the faces and bands shone brightly, reflected in the pony's green eyes. "Can I help you, sir?" Time Turner asked, stepping to his side.
"I, uh...I'm just looking, thanks," the pony said, looking a little startled. "Thinking about getting something for the marefriend. How much are these?"
"They range from around fifty to eighty bits apiece," Time Turner replied. The brown pony nodded, his lips thinning briefly. "I'll think about it," he said, turning to exit.
"Feel free to come again," Turner called softly after him as the door shut, the bell tinkling behind the visitor. Turner allowed himself to relax as soon as he was out of sight and the tinkling of the bell had ceased: he knew he had to run a shop, but visitors always made him nervous. He decided to give the watch display the visitor had been looking over another polish, just to be on the safe side. Stooping behind the main counter, he retrieved a cleaning cloth and spray bottle when the bell tinkled again.
Looking up, Time Turner saw a new customer entering the store. This was a skinny pale blue unicorn with a bright yellow tail and a bad manecut. He wore a threadbare brown coat with the collar turned up; his nervous blue eyes peered out through it. His cutie mark was a heart, club, diamond and spade arranged in a circle.
"Can you help me?" the pony asked. His voice was a watery croak.
"If it's got to do with a clock, yes," Time Turner replied, setting the cleaning materials back down.
"I need this repaired." The pony used his magic to pull a small pocketwatch out of his pocket and gave it to Turner. Turner frowned as he examined it. The watch was gold and probably had been expensive when it was bought. But now the gold was faded and tarnished, the chain had been broken off, and the casing was covered in several scratches. The scratches almost obscured the symbol on the casing, a flower and a quill in an inkpot. Opening up the casing, Turner saw that the glass covering was unpolished and that there were more scratches on the inside of the casing: three sets of a series of numbers. And worst of all, the watch wasn't even running!
"I've had this watch for a while now," the pony explained. "It belonged to my father, and I'd like to have it repaired. You know, in his memory."
Turner frowned, examining the watch's inner workings. It obviously had not been taken care of quite some time. "I might be able to fix this," he said.
"I need it as soon as possible," the customer said. For a moment, Turner thought he saw an emotion flash in his eyes: desperation.
"I will contact you as soon as I can fix it," Turner said, putting the cover back on and carefully placing the watch on the counter. "I need a name, Mister...?"
"Straight Flush," the unicorn murmured. "Thank you." And he hurried out the door without another word. Turner blinked in confusion, then carried the pocketwatch to the worktable in the back of the shop. Putting the watch in the center of the table, he pulled a lighted magnifier over it.
The internal mechanism of the watch was worse than he had thought. It probably hadn't run properly in years. Wincing internally, Turner opened a drawer in the table, his hoof hovering over the perfectly arranged tools. He had to fix that watch, but it was in such bad shape that he had no idea where to start.
That's when he noticed something odd. There was an unusual mechanism nestled into the gears. He'd never seen anything like that in a clock before. What was it for? He leaned closer, taking a screwdriver out of the drawer.
CRASH! A noise outside made Turner nearly jump out his skin. Leaving the watch on the table, Turner got up and exited the shop, looking around to find the source of the sound.
"Hi, hon!" a cheery voice declared. Right in front of Turner was none other than his wife, Ditzy Do, giving him a cross-eyed smile as she sat in the midst of a small crater in the ground.
"Hello, dear," Turner said, a goofy smile spreading across his face against his will. "What are you doing here?"
"Just dropped by to say hi!" Ditzy answered, striding over and giving him a warm kiss on the cheek. Turner felt his face go red. "I gotta go, Dinky'll be out of school soon! Mushroom casserole for dinner tonight!"
"Good to know, dear," Turner smiled, waving Ditzy off as she flew off. "Ditzy! The school is that way!"
"I knew that!" Ditzy said, turning around and flying the right way. Shaking his head, Turner went back into the shop, the mysterious pocketwatch driven out of his head. No other customers came that day, giving Turner plenty of time to clean and make sure that everything in the display area was properly placed.
At precisely four o'clock, he closed up his shop, drawing the blinds and locking the door behind him. Cheerily, he trotted down the street, humming a happy tune. Now for a daily visit the park, enjoying the sun and wind on his face, before returning home to his wife and daughter. He picked up a newspaper at a stand, trotted over to his favorite bench underneath a hundred year old oak tree with bright green leaves that whispered in the breeze, and started on the crossword puzzle. He smiled contentedly to himself as he placed the letters into the boxes with his favorite pen. Every letter in its place.
Eleven minutes and forty seven seconds later, right after he had put "punctual" into 18 Across, he suddenly remembered the pocketwatch. "I should take that home to work on it," he said to himself. Tucking the newspaper beneath his foreleg, he started to trot back to the store. His tail stiffened at the disruption of his schedule, but he ignored the feeling.
As soon as he came within sight of the shop, however, his entire body went stiff. The door, which he had locked behind him, was wide open with the door jamb torn. Rushing inside, Turner turned on the spot, his mouth dropping open in horror.
Almost everything was gone. The display cases broken to display their missing merchandise, the grandfather clocks shoved aside, the cash register with it's empty drawer ripped open.
Nothing was in it's place anymore. Not even Time Turner himself.
Author's Notes:
The beginning of a new story featuring Ponyville's favorite clockmaker and his bubblehead wife, going head to head with a dangerous gang over a strange pocketwatch...
Part 2: Order
"...and when I came back, it was like this!" Time Turner declared, spinning in a circle and gesturing around the looted store. Ditzy and Dinky stood at the entrance. Ditzy was looking extremely upset, both eyes wandering around the wreckage. Dinky was fidgeting beside her. Turner could tell that she was itching to start cleaning up the mess.
The one pony who remained calm was Phillip, who had been summoned by Turner right after his family. He coolly turned on the spot, taking in every detail.
"Keep calm, Turner," he said in an even voice. "Do you remember who you had as customers today?"
"Y-Yes, in fact," Turner stammered, bustling over to the main counter. He pulled out a thick notebook and flipped it open. "I keep a log of all my customers every day. Here, here's today's." He carefully pulled out a sheet with his mouth and gave it to Phillip. The sheet listed descriptions of customers and names if applicable, what they did, what they touched, and what they purchased. Phil looked over the list, then pocketed it. That's when he noticed something on the worktable. "What's that pocketwatch?"
Turner blinked in surprise. "Great whickering stallions, I completely forgot about that! Somepony brought that in to be repaired." He strode over to the table and pocketed the watch. "I might as well take care of it for him."
"Fine," Phil said, placing his loupe glasses on his snout. "Now, could you all please leave for a while?"
Turner hesitated, looking around his beloved shop, at the wreckage it contained. "I will find who did this, mate," Phillip promised, laying a hoof on his friend's shoulder. Turner swallowed and nodded, managing a weak smile as he turned and exited with his family.
"Aw, cheer up, muffins!" Ditzy said, a bright grin replacing her formerly forlorn features as she put a wing around her still frowning husband and daughter. "It's not so bad. We can replace the clocks and once we repair the shop, everything will be good as new!"
"This is terrible!" Turner declared. "I'm going to have to get a security system, completely reorganize the shop, purchase new locks..."
There was a ticking sound next to his ear. Turning, he saw his old pocketwatch floating next to his ear in a golden magical aura. The mechanical rhythm and the regular swinging motion soothed him.
"Calm down, dad," Dinky said, holding the watch in her magic.
Turner took a breath. "You're both right. I just need to think this through. There is a solution." His eyes suddenly lit up. "I've got it! I could invent the perfect burglar system! Nopony will be able to break into a home with the new Turner security system!" With an enthusiastic grin on his face, Turner sprinted towards home. Ditzy followed, a pleased smile on her face.
Dinky shook her head slowly. "I'll get the first aid kit out," she sighed, following her parents at a more languid pace.
A few hours later, a patched up TIme Turner was carried into his home by his distressed wife. "I just don't know what went wrong!" he groaned.
"It's okay, sweetie," Ditzy said, patting his shoulder as she guided him to his study. "You can always try again tomorrow. Let me get you some tea!" She bustled back to the kitchen. Behind her, DInky sighed and went to get the broom and dustpan from the closet.
Alone in his study with his collection of perfectly synchronized clocks, Turner's thoughts turned once again to the pocketwatch. Placing it on his desk, he opened up the back once more, moving a tabletop magnifier over it to examine the detail more closely. Again, the mysterious device attracted his attention. He examined the additional piece more closely. It reminded him a little of an alarm: it seemed to be connected to the watch mechanism in such a way that at a certain time, it would...what? What was it supposed to do? Why had it been added and by whom? Its original owner?
First, he had to repair the watch itself, then he could see for himself. Pulling out a small toolbox from it's place in the bottom right drawer, he opened it up, his hoof hovering over the collection of equipment within momentarily before selecting an oiler to clean out the grease-covered gears. He barely noticed the tinkling of china from the kitchen, or when Derpy brought in a cup of tea with extra milk and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
It was only when darkness began to fall and he started yawning that he decided to pack it in for the night. Much as he hated to leave a job unfinished and as curious as he was about the extra mechanism, it was 8:30, time for sleep. Replacing the pocketwatch's back and putting it in his desk drawer, he left the study and headed up to the bathroom. Brush, floss, gargle and brush, and then it was off to bed. Placing himself beneath the covers, he curled up next to Ditzy, who was already asleep.
As he took her in his forelegs, a feeling of relief overtook him. He really was overreacting. It was a simple burglary, nothing more. And perhaps the extra piece was just from a model of clock that he was unfamiliar with. He smiled to himself. Everything was going to be all right in the morning...
Around two in the morning, Dinky woke up. Her eyes focused on the night light next to her bed, which cast a pale white glow through her room, gently illuminating her perfectly organized plushies and books. With a frustrated sigh, she rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. Unfortunately, her body had other plans. Her throat became dry and itchy, desperately crying out for water. Groaning, she got up out of bed and trotted out to the kitchen, lighting up her horn to guide the way.
Taking a glass from the cabinet, she rinsed it out a few times—there could be germs in there, after all—dried it out with a washcloth and filled it with water. She gulped down the drink, savoring every drop. Then she replaced the glass, washed her hooves—again, germs—then started to trot back to bed.
But as she passed the living room, she saw motion out of the corner of her eye. With a soft gasp, she withdrew back behind the corner, dousing her horn. Slowly, she peeked out past the corner.
There was a shape in the living room, dark against dark. It was a hooded figure, slowly panning a light back and forth as it searched through a cabinet. As if alerted by a sixth sense, the figure suddenly looked up, pointing its light towards Dinky. She withdrew and hid behind the wall. Her heart pounded in her chest, so loud that she feared it might give her away. Slowly, she backed out of the kitchen, hiding beneath the tablecloth of the dining room table. She peeked out from beneath the cloth.
Slow, quiet hoofsteps approached. The figure turned the corner, panning the light back and forth. For a moment, the light from the lamp the intruder was carrying reflected off something it was carrying in a magical grip: a sharp knife, blade three inches long.
The intruder entered the dining room, panning it's light back and forth. Dinky ducked back beneath the tablecloth as the spot of light neared the table, covering her mouth with her hoof to stifle her frantic breathing. The light hovered for a moment over the table, then moved on. Dinky slowly backed out from underneath the table, noticing the backside of the figure disappearing back into the living room. Silently, she crept out from beneath the table, through the kitchen and up towards her parents room. Opening the door with her magic, she leapt up on the bed. "Mom! Mom! Dad!" she whisper-shouted, waking her parents.
"Dinky, what's going on?" Ditzy yawned, rubbing her eyes.
"Somepony's in the house! He's got a knife!" Dinky whispered.
Instantly, both her parents were wide awake. Ditzy gathered her daughter up in her hooves, holding her close to her chest. Turner slowly got out of the bed and proceeded to the door. Gently, he nosed it open, peering down the hallway. "We have to get out of the house," he whispered. "Come on, follow me!" On tiptoe, he guided his family down the hallway towards the back door. The three were silent, save for their heavy breathing.
As they rounded a corner, a creaking sound came from the kitchen. Ditzy's tail flicked nervously.
Unfortunately, her tail struck a picture on the wall. The picture wobbled, then fell off the hanger and landed on the floor with a disproportionately loud CRASH!
Then, CRASH! CRASH! CRASH! Several more picture inexplicably fell off the wall and smashed onto the floor. The noise echoed throughout the house. For a moment, there was a terrifying silence, then the sound of hoofsteps approaching rapidly.
"Go! Go!" Turner said, bustling his family out of the house and through the back door. The family ran out into the night, running away from the house and the unknown danger within. They did not stop until they were well out of sight on a hill, panting heavily.
"What do we do now?" Dinky whimpered, still shaking.
"I don't know," Turner groaned, staring out into the dark of night that offered no comfort.
Author's Notes:
This is not good, is it?
(Note: my headcanon is that Dinky is Turner and Ditzy's birth daughter. She has inherited some of her father's OCD, which manifests as minor germaphobia. She's also far, far too familiar with her parent's close relationship with disaster.)
Part 3: The Outsiders
One sleepless night at Carrot Top's place later, the family searched their home. Time Turner went over everything for the third time, frowning in confusion.
"They didn't take anything," he said to himself. "I have several things of value here. Why didn't they take anything?"
"Because that's not what they wanted," a voice answered from the door. Phillip walked through the door, rubbing his eyes blearily. "You should've called me earlier."
"We were a bit panicked at the time!" Turner replied, a bit more loudly than he meant.
"I understand," Phillip said. He examined the room, lost in thought, frowning.
"The thief from the store," Turner said. "D-did you find him?"
"Yes. It was that seedy pony, who talked about getting a watch for his marefriend." Phil grunted softly. "Clumsy thief, left behind a lot of evidence. I found all your stolen clocks at his place, but he was a bit harder to find. That's why I was gone most of last night." His eyes sparked as a thought came to him. "The pocketwatch. Do you still have it?"
"Er...yes, yes, I think I do." Turner raced back to his study. He came back moments later with the pocketwatch, which he carefully gave to Phillip.
"This was expensive," Phillip muttered. "At one point. The pony who bought this might have cared for it, but whoever inherited it didn't."
"You think he was telling the truth about getting it from his father?"
"I don't have a reason to think that he didn't," Phillip said, sitting down on the couch (Dinky winced: she'd just sprayed that and most of the floor and furniture with a bottle of disinfectant). "Multiple scratches...looks like he carried it in his pocket with his spare change."
"What are those numbers on the inside of the case?" Ditzy asked.
"Pawnbroker's numbers," Phil answered. "This watch was pawned and bought back at least three times." He frowned. "Straight Flush might be a gambler. He sold the watch when he was low on funds, then bought it back when his luck turned around."
"There's something else," Turner said. He gently took the watch from Phillip and opened up the back. "There's this part here. I don't know what it's for, but it's not a normal part of a clock."
Phillip stared at the mysterious part for a while, then closed the watch back. "I think I should hang onto this for a while."
"B-but—" Turner stammered.
"Turner," Phillip said. "I think this might be the reason your family was endangered. You're all safer if I have it."
Turner gazed at the unfinished watch with a longing gaze, but Ditzy touched his shoulder. He gazed at his family for a moment, then nodded at Phillip, who pocketed the watch.
"I'm going to make some inquiries," he said, exiting. "The three of you watch your backs."
Ditzy frowned in thought, then tried to twist her head around to look at her back. "Why? What's my back going to do?" giving Turner a wall-eyed look of bewilderment.
Turner laughed softly, shaking his head. "Oh, Ditzy, sweetheart, never change," he chuckled, giving his wife a kiss.
"Now, come on, Dinky," Ditzy said, her cheerful attitude bubbling to the surface again. "It's time for school!" She bustled her daughter down the hallway, play-chasing her into the kitchen and eliciting a few giggles from the filly. "Everything's going to be all right now!"
Ditzy might not have realized, but that was just tempting fate.
That afternoon, Dinky bounded out of the schoolhouse with a happy grin and a song on her lips. She hardly reacted when her mother tumbled out of the sky and crash-landed in front of her. "Hi, muffin!" Ditzy said, twisting upright and giving her a smile. "How was your day?"
"Great!" Dinky replied, hopping after her mother as she guided her down the streets of Ponyville back home. The two chatted happily, enjoying the warm sun and cool breeze on their faces.
But as they turned the corner onto Drury Lane, they saw three strange ponies in front of them. All of them were rather tough-looking, scowling as they looked around at the cottages.
"Where's this doc live anyway?" one of them, a large dark blue unicorn with a black eyes that were set a little too close together said as he squinted at a house number.
"How should I know?" snapped back a skinny cream-colored pegasus with dark glasses, chewing compulsively on a toothpick.
"Shut up, both of you," ordered the apparent leader, a mean-looking earth pony with a black coat and venomous green eyes, wearing a loose brown vest. "We just gotta find this guy, get the watch, and it'll be good."
"Excuse me," Ditzy said, approaching the trio with a smile. "Who are you looking for? Maybe I can help, I—"
"Bug off," the earth pony said to her. "We don't need your help."
Ditzy simpered, her ears flattening against her head. "I was just trying to help—"
"I said shove off," the earth pony said, shoving her. Ditzy stumbled and wound up tumbling backwards several feet and crashing into a mailbox, which toppled over and got stuck on her head. The three ponies fell about laughing as Ditzy, after some struggling, managed to get the mailbox off her head, spitting letters. Her mismatched eyes were wide and she looked close to tears.
"Mom, let's just go," Dinky said, helping her mother up and guiding her away, compulsively scrubbing at her hooves in a display of her nervousness.
"Yeah, that's right, run away!" the unicorn called after them. "Go cry and take your dumb kid with you!"
As soon as she heard that, Ditzy froze as suddenly as if she'd been turned into stone. Her eyes widened, pupils shrinking into dots. One of them twitched a couple of times.
Uh-oh, Dinky thought.
Ditzy whirled around and faced the three bullies, her eyes now blazing with fury. "What did you say about my daughter, you stupid jerk?!" she shouted. The trio hesitated, looking slightly taken aback, before the unicorn spoke up again.
"I said that she's a dumb kid, from a dumber mother," he sneered. "You should be real proud of yourself."
"That's it!" Ditzy screeched, spreading her wings and taking flight, charging right at the bullies with a furious roar. The astonished thugs, to startled to move, braced themselves for the impact.
The impact never came, however, because Ditzy somehow tripped in midair and did a faceplant, skidding a few feet before ending at the hooves of her would-be victims. The stallions stared down at Ditzy, who was groaning in pain and holding her head, then burst into loud laughter.
"Stop laughing at me!" Ditzy shouted, rolling along the ground. She hit the legs of the earth pony with the vest, sending him tumbling over and landing face down, abruptly ending the laughter. Coming up between the other two thugs, Ditzy stood up suddenly, but staggered as if off-balance. Her hoof struck the face of the pegasus as the back of her head smashed into the unicorn, sending them both flying back. Ditzy went after the pegasus, staggering into him like she was struggling to keep her balance, smashing into him with her head, shoulders, elbows and hooves. The thug tried to put up a defense, but it was too late. A wild uppercut to his jaw sent him spinning away and tumbling to the ground, unconscious.
Behind her, the unicorn had just grabbed a length of wood and was charging at her. With a bellow like an angry manticore, he swung his makeshift weapon at Ditzy, who ducked out of the way. Again and again, the thug swung at her, but Ditzy somehow managed to dodge every time, stumbling and staggering.
"Hold still!" the unicorn yelled, slashing at Ditzy's legs. Ditzy jumped over the attack, landing on her forehooves in a hoofstand, spreading her wings out for balance. Bizarrely, she began to walk towards her attacker on her forelegs, kicking at him with her hind legs. Her hooves pummeled into his face mercilessly, causing him to drop his weapon. A final upward kick to his chin sent the thug up into the air and crashing down to the ground. Ditzy flipped back to her hind legs, wobbling.
"Mom, look out!" Dinky warned, almost too late. The earth pony had gotten back into the fight, pulling a knife out of his vest. He began to slash viciously at Ditzy, who backpedaled rapidly, her flailing limbs somehow deflecting every attack. She ducked beneath a swipe at her head, only for her attacker to seize her by the hair. "Got you now!" he shouted, aiming the knife right at her neck and stabbing.
Suddenly, Ditzy spun around so that she was standing with her back to his chest, twisting his hoof and forcing him to let go of her hair. Ditzy's forehooves slammed into his leg, knocking the knife from his grasp. At the same time, she sent her hips back into his hips, knocking him backwards. The earth pony suddenly found himself being lifted off the ground: Ditzy's tail had somehow got entangled with his legs.
As he fell, Ditzy spun around once more and with a yell, jumped off the ground and dropkicked the thug right in the chest with both legs. He sailed backwards across the street and crashed into some trash cans, where he lay in an unconscious heap. Flopping to the ground, Ditzy used her wings to lift herself back up, panting.
"Mom, are you okay?" Dinky shouted, rushing over to her mother and hugging her.
"I'm fine, muffin," Ditzy said, embracing her trembling daughter with her wings. "I'm fine."
Attracted by the sound of the commotion, several ponies rushed out to see what was going on. They gazed in mute astonishment at the sight: three unconscious ponies with Derpy herself standing in the midst of them. Time Turner and Phillip themselves appeared, staring open-mouthed.
The unicorn groaned and raised his head slightly. "I just don't know what went wrong," he murmured, then flopped back down onto the ground.
Author's Notes:
And the moral of the story is: don't mess with mama bear. Especially when mama bear is Derpy.
But who are these thugs, and what did they want with Turner?
Part 4: Make A Bet
The three thugs lay in cots at the Ponyville Hospital, their wounds wrapped in casts. Phillip Finder glared at them contemptuously.
"Judging by your tattoos, you're part of the Canter Nostra gang," he snarled, leaning in close to the earth pony leader. The gangster maintained an even eye contact. "You're organized crime thugs. You don't have any presence in a small town like Ponyville." He leaned in close, allowing his eyes to fill the suspect's gaze. "So what the hell are you doing here?"
The suspect's response was to spit into Phillip's face and avert his gaze to the ceiling. With a frustrated grunt, Phillip turned and strode out of the hospital, moving back into town at a fast trot.
That did it. That was the last straw. Somepony breaking into his friend's home with a knife and scaring the wits out of all of them was one thing, but a trio of armed, dangerous gangsters striding through the town—through his town—picking on other ponies and looking for Turner for unknown reasons? This ended now.
The pocketwatch was at the center of all this. Of that he was certain. And he was equally certain that Straight Flush knew more than what he was saying.
And speaking of whom...Phillip's head turned, his eyes focusing on a nervous-looking pony in a threadbare coat with a cutie mark of a heart, club, diamond and spade arranged in a circle hurrying down the street, glancing around. The pony turned his head towards Phillip, who reacted by turning and walking away as if disinterested. His target continued down the street, still glancing occasionally over his shoulder. Phil began to follow him, moving through alleyways and ducking behind cover to stay out of sight as he watched Straight Flush hurry towards Turner's Clock Repair Shop.
As soon as his suspect entered, Phillip felt an urgent shiver run up his spine, his body stiffening and his eyes narrowing. Crime sense warning: imminent crime, lives in danger. He started to run into the shop, but checked himself: if he burst in, he might startle Flush so much that he would do something desperate and somepony could get hurt. Instead, he entered quietly, opening the door slowly to avoid tinkling the bell too loudly.
Inside, Straight Flush was speaking to Turner. Turner looked nervous, and not without reason: Flush was wide-eyed, his expression one of desperation and suffocating fear. The unicorn's tail kept flicking: it reminded Phil of a wildcat about to pounce. Neither stallion had seemed to notice him.
"My watch," Flush was saying. "Do you have it? Is it repaired?"
"Your watch?" Turner asked, stepping back a pace nervously. "I...I'm sorry, but things...things have b-been pretty busy here and I just haven't had th-the time to..."
"It's not fixed?" Straight Flush with a dangerous tone in his voice, taking a step forward. Despite being smaller than Turner, he seemed to loom over him threateningly.
"I-I-I'm sorry, sir," Turner said, backing up against the wall (Phillip's hoof twitched towards the vest pocket that carried his baton, but he stayed himself). "But I just—"
"I need that watch back!" Flush almost shouted, his horn lighting up. His coat pulled back slightly and something within moved, like a snake head striking.
But before the knife could be fully drawn, Phillip was moving. His baton came down, striking Flush in the foreleg and bringing him down, where a foreleg smashed into his jaw. The knife clattered to the floor a split second before Straight Flush did, groaning. Phillip pounced on Flush's chest and raised his baton to strike, a thunderous expression of fury on his face. It was only at the last moment that he stopped himself, relaxing slightly and standing. "You okay?" he asked Turner, who was trembling.
"Great whickering stallions," he murmured. "I...yes, I'm fine."
Phil kicked the knife away under the desk and grabbed Flush by the scruff of his neck, dragging him out the back door and outside. Turner, still looking a bit overwhelmed, followed.
Phil roughly tossed Flush down onto the grass and pinned him with a knee. "I have some questions. You have some answers. First question: what is with that damn pocketwatch of yours?"
Flush swallowed. "I don't know, I swear! I-I mean..." he cowered when Phil snarled slightly. "Look, it belonged to my father. His name was Quick Quill."
"Quick Quill?" Turner asked. "Wasn't he one of the original architects for the Ponyville clock tower?"
"Yeah, yeah," Flush said quickly. "He also embezzled a lot of money from the other architects."
"Money that you need," Phillip said.
Flush nodded, looking shamefaced. "Please let me up. I'll explain everything." Phil stood up off him and allowed Flush to sit up. "Cards were always my special talent, but a while ago, I hit a streak of bad luck. I just kept losing. Eventually, I fell so far into debt that I had to borrow money."
"From the Canter Nostra," Phil said.
Flush swallowed. "It got me out of the hole, but they showed up a few days ago, saying they wanted their money back. I remembered the stories about my dad: they say that he hid the money he stole somewhere, because they never found it. I did some looking in my attic, and I found his old pocketwatch and a note. It said that he had hidden the money somewhere in the clock tower, and that the watch had a way to open it. The note said that it'd open at his proudest moment."
"So you hired me to fix the watch," Turner said.
"And then you broke into their home the next night, trying to steal the watch back," Phil said.
"Look, please listen!" Flush blurted, trying to justify himself. "If I don't pay up, they'll kill me. I need that money!"
"And you don't care what happens to anypony else, do you?" Phillip spat, stepping forward. Flush scrambled to crawl away. "You broke into an innocent pony's home, terrorized his family, and put innocent lives in danger all so you could get your money." He leaned down and glared right into Flush's face.
"Get out of Ponyville. Go to the next town and turn yourself in to the Guard. I don't ever want to see you in this town again.'"
"Yes, sir! Yes, I will!" Flush squeaked in a high-pitched voice. He scrambled up to his hooves and hurried away. Phillip kept his eyes on him until he had scurried out of sight, then turned back to Turner, who had watched these proceedings with an expression of shock on his face.
"Turner, I think it's time we fixed that pocketwatch. It's time to end this."
About an hour later, Turner finally looked up from the worktable. "I think I've done it," he said, wiping sweat off his brow. "But what now?"
"Flush said the watch would open at Quill's proudest moment," Phil said, pacing behind Turner. He thought for a moment, then asked Turner, "What time did the clock tower officially start?"
Turner paused, his hoof drawing circles in his mane as he thought. "Ten-thirty," he said.
"Set the watch to ten-thirty," Phil suggestsed, bending over the worktable. Carefully, Time Turner wound the clock and turned the hands to ten thirty. As soon as he did so, there was a soft click, and a part of the watch border opened. His eyes widening in surprise, Turner slowly opened the secret compartment. "I guess I know what that extra part was for now," he said.
Carefully, he turned the compartment upside down. A small, rust-covered key fell out, clattering on the table. Turner picked it up and examined it closely.
"This might fit," he whispered.
"Might fit where?" Phil asked.
"Inside the clock tower, there's a small lock set in the floor on the third floor. Nopony has ever been able to open it or figure out what it's for. But I'd be willing to bet that this key fits that."
"Only one way to find out," Phil said, turning and heading towards the door. "You coming?"
"Oh, yeah," Turner said, snatching the key up. "Allons-y!" The two stallions exited the clock repair shop and started towards the Ponyville clock tower as the sun began to dip below the horizon, darkness spreading across the town.
Author's Notes:
So...the reveal.
I know this might feel a bit disappointing to some, but I after The Sun Falls, I wanted to go back to the first stories I wrote, a little more light-hearted adventure.
Next part: the clock tower's secrets!
Part 5: The Clock Tower
It was closing to seven o'clock as the stallions reached the Ponyville clock tower. The tall brick building seemed to loom over them, backlit against the stars of the darkening sky, the illuminated clock face staring down at them like a gigantic eye.
Turner used his own personal key to unlock the entry door and led Phillip inside. The interior of the clock tower was dark, with creaking wood floors covered with oil stains and cold stone steps that led upwards to rooms filled with large gears and other mechanisms. A deep, echoing tok resounded throughout the building with every passing second, and the gears rumbled as they moved. Turner reached up towards the light switch on the wall and flicked it, but nothing happened. Frowning, he flicked the switch up and down a few times, but still got nothing. "Oh, great," he muttered. "The power must be out again."
Something on the back of Phillip's neck tingled, but he ignored it. Taking out his flashlight, he strapped it to his shoulder and turned it on, creating a powerful beam of light.
"This way," Turner said, leading the way up the stone steps. The two spiraled up towards the third floor. Turner pointed Phillip towards the southeast corner, handing him the rusty key. Phillip walked forward, panning his flashlight over the floor. Over in the corner, just barely discernible against the wood floor, was a small keyhole. Crouching, Phillip took the key in his mouth and placed it into the keyhole. The key fit snugly, and Phillip turned his head to unlock it.
That's when he heard a cry behind him. Looking up, he saw Time Turner down on his knees, shaking. A figure stood behind him, a muscular blonde unicorn, holding a knife to his throat. "That's right, Finder," the figure said, his sadistic grin glowing in the light of his flashlight. "Just open it up and give us the treasure, and I'll consider letting your friend live."
More ponies—at least fifteen—emerged from the darkness, all of them armed, and Phillip suddenly realized that the power outage was no accident. "The Canter Nostra, I presume. G'day." Already, his mind was racing, making out a plan. He had no doubt that he could take down all of these wankers, but there was a stumbling block: Time Turner. He'd prefer to get out of this without having his friend's throat cut.
He looked back at Turner, who looked back at him, his blue eyes swimming with fear. Turner glanced at a set of gears and weights next to him, examining them like gauges on a machine. An idea seemed to spark in his eye, and he looked back at Phil, mouthing silently. Forty-seven seconds.
It took a moment for Phillip to understand, but he quickly realized what Turner had in mind. "Look, mates, I'd really love to give you that stolen money," he said. "But first, you need to let my friend go."
"Show us the money first," the gangster holding the knife to Turner's neck said.
"How do I know you won't just kill him when you have the money?"
"It's a matter of faith," the thug replied. All around him, the other criminals shifted restlessly. "You just gotta believe."
Sixteen seconds, Turner mouthed.
"I've never been a pony of faith," Phil answered.
"Enough," the gangster snarled, pressing the knife closer to Turner's neck. "I know what you're trying to do: stall so you can think up a plan."
"Wrong," Phil said, a grin crossing his face. "I've already thought of a plan."
At that moment, the clock tower struck seven o'clock. The clanging of the bells echoed through the entire building and inside the heads of the ponies within. Turner and Phil were prepared and braced for the sound, but the other ponies were taken by surprise. They staggered, clutching their ears in pain. The leader stumbled back, removing the knife from Turner's throat. Immediately, the clockmaker ran to Phillip's side. Shutting off his flashlight to hide their movements, Phil pressed down on Turner's neck, forcing his head down as he guided him towards the stairs, knocking two goons out of the way.
"Get after them!" the leader shouted as the last peals fell away. The entire group chased after them, stampeding down the stairs onto the next two floors, spreading out to search every hiding place. But to their bewilderment, neither stallion was to be found.
"You two, block that door!" the leader shouted, pointing to two goons with sawn-off shotguns. "Everypony else, spread out and start searching! Get that key back, but those two don't leave here in one piece, capiche?" With shouts of assent, the other gangsters spread out and began searching the lower two floors of the clock tower.
Back up on the third floor, Turner and Phil emerged from a small alcove that they'd hidden in. "What now?" Turner whispered urgently, his hoof tracing circles in his mane again.
"We can't go downstairs, and the windows are too small to climb out of," Phil replied, peeking down the stairs to examine the shifting lights from the floor below. "And I can't fight these guys without endangering you." He looked back at Turner, who was now shifting nervously from one hoof to the next. "We need to signal for help."
Turner let out a little whimper, his eyes darting around the dark room at the multiple gears and weights, all of them rumbling, ticking and clicking in a regular whimper. Gears, he thought, his mind racing in panic. Gears, all made to fit and well-oiled, moving weights. Precisely calculated movements, marking time, perfect rhythm, moving clock hands, ringing bells...
Bells!
"I have an idea," he whispered. "I need to get to the gearbox on the top floor."
"You lead, I watch your back," Phil replied, taking out his baton and allowing it to fall open slowly. The two stallions crept up towards the up stairs, glancing behind them every two steps. Pounding hoofsteps behind them, coming up the stairs. The two of them slipped behind a set of large gears the size of carriages as a pair of ponies equipped with flashlights entered.
"You really think there's actually a huge case of money hidden in here?" one of them said in a voice like gravel.
"Would those two be here if there wasn't?" the other replied. "Come on, let's check over there." They moved past their target's hiding spot, passing close enough for Phil to reach out and grab them, but he desisted from attacking. Once their pursuers were out of sight, Phil and Turner began to move, creeping up towards the stairs.
Phil noticed that Turner, in his fear, was subconsciously holding his breath. "Try to breathe steadily," he whispered in his friend's ear. "It'll help calm you down."
Taking his advice, Turner focused on his breathing, setting up a rhythm in his head. Inhale for three seconds, hold for one second, exhale for three seconds. Repeat. Just like a pendulum, marking time. Focusing on something besides the terror did wonders: he felt his heartbeat slow and his hooves stopped trembling. Calmer now, he lead the way up towards the top of the tower. Voices and clattering from the gangsters followed up after them, but Turner ignored them.
Their pursuers hadn't reached the upper floors yet. Finally, the two reached the top floor. Phillip stood next to the doorway, watching for anypony who came up while Turner hurried over to the gearbox. "You sure you know what you're doing?" Phil whispered.
"Yes, I know what I'm doing," Turner said, carefully opening the gearbox to expose the clicking, whirring mechanisms within. Taking a wrench from a nearby toolbox, he set to work, rearranging the gears inside. Gears that were connected to the drive train that controlled the bells.
"Good plan, mate," Phil nodded, understanding his idea.
"There he is!" a voice shouted. A pony charged into the room, directly at Turner, his eyes blazing with fury. Unfortunately for him, he didn't see Phillip, who stunned him with a baton strike to the throat and knocked him out with a blow to the back of his head. Quickly, Phillip pushed the unconscious form in front of the door to serve as an obstacle. "Keep working. I'll hold them off."
Another pair of ponies stampeded up the stairs, both of them drawing clubs. Phillip parried the first attack with his baton as he punched the other pony in the nose. A pitched battle began between the criminals and Phil began. With Phil standing in the doorway and a growing pile of bodies in front of him, his attackers were forced to come after him one or two at a time, but there were a lot more of them than him, and he could only fight for so long.
Behind him, Turner continued to work. He had tuned out the fight behind him: his focus was solely on the mechanism before him. This was just another clock that needed to be fixed...quickly.
"A bit faster, please!" Phil said, ducking beneath a wild swing at his head and countering with an upward baton strike to a groin.
A bead of sweat traveled down Time Turner's neck, but he did not wipe it away. The final adjustment would take him only twelve seconds. He just had to have faith that Phil could...
"Oof!" Phil grunted, stumbling back as a sloppy, but vicious uppercut struck him in the face. Pushing past him, the unicorn leader ran at Turner, whose eyes widened with horror upon seeing the incoming danger. Charging forward, Phil grabbed his foe's tail in his teeth, bucking another thug as he did so. Tugging the unicorn back to the door, Phil pushed him back onto the ground, but was seized from behind. Several more thugs jumped on him, dragging them to the ground in a tangled pile of flailing limbs, biting teeth and bellowed curses.
"Done!" Turner said triumphantly, giving his wrench a final turn. The gears turned with a series of clicks that traveled along the gear train. Beneath them, a series of weights began to drop, tugging on chains that reeled back up to the bells at the top.
Ding-ding-ding! DONG-DONG-DONG! Ding-ding-ding!
Ding-ding-ding! DONG-DONG-DONG! Ding-ding-ding!
Time Turner's impromptu SOS broadcast throughout the town. He let out a relieved breath, wiping his brow. "Brilliant! Now we just—"
He was interrupted by a hoof on his shoulder. Turning, he saw the blonde unicorn behind him, grinning as he held up a knife. With a terrified cry, Turner did the first thing that came to mind: he swung the wrench in his hoof with all his might. It struck his attacker in the jaw, sending him spinning away. The unicorn's eyes rolled and he fell over with a loud thump, knocked out cold.
"Did I do that?" Time Turner murmured.
He had no time to think about what he had just done, because another attacker appeared, swinging a baseball bat at his head. Turner ducked and weaved, but the attacks kept coming, backing him up against the wall. The bat came down at his head. With both hooves, he blocked the attack with the wrench, struggling against his enemy's superior strength. He heard Phil cry out furiously, but he was still pinned down by a couple of thugs.
He looked with wide, horrified eyes at the vicious grin on his attacker's face, smelled his horrible breath. This was it: his time was up. How ironic that he was going to die here in the clock tower, where he had spent so much of his life. The gears that he had so faithfully oiled and cared for were now going to be witness to his death!
WHAM!
Something flew through the air and slammed hard into the thug, knocking him down. That something smiled happily up at Turner. "Hi, honey!" Ditzy said, stomping on the thug's head for the knockout.
Behind them, Phil knocked out the last two crooks by slamming their heads together with a loud crash. Panting, he retrieved his trilby from the ground as Ditzy and Turner embraced.
"What kept you? It took you one minute and thirty-seven seconds to get here!" Turner said in relief, hugging his wife tightly.
"Neither rain nor snow nor sleet nor vicious criminals!" Ditzy replied, giving them both a salute.
"Good work," Phil said. "Now there's just this." He pulled the rusty key out of his vest.
"Oooh, can I see that?" Ditzy said eagerly, holding out her hooves. Without a thought, Phil tossed the key to Ditzy. "Oops!" Ditzy cried out as the key bounced off her outstretched hooves and into the gearbox. With a series of clinks and clatters, the key fell down into the darkness, lost for good.
"My bad," Ditzy whimpered, flattening her ears against her head.
Turner kissed her on the cheek. "Maybe it's for the best, dear," he said. "That money's caused more trouble than it's worth." With a smile, he took his friends by the foreleg and guided them out as other ponies began to file into the tower. "Why don't we go home?"
Author's Notes:
And that's that. We'll wrap up this little ditty in the next part.
Part 6: All the Time in the World
The next morning, Time Turner was sitting at a bench in the Ponyville Park, carefully taking a set of chess pieces out of a bag and placing them, one at a time, on a chessboard that he had set up on a table. Carefully, he put the black rook in place, making sure that it was placed perfectly in the center on the square. Satisfied, he sat back on the bench with a sigh and took out his pocketwatch, watching the second hand tick around the circumference. At 9:00, Turner looked up. Phillip was walking towards him, smiling softly.
"All right?" he asked, touching the brim of his hat in greeting.
"Doing well," Turner replied, sitting up as Phillip slid into the seat opposite. "How've you been?"
"Better than I've been in a while," Phil replied, pondering the army of white pieces before him. He'd played enough chess games with Time Turner to know better than to rush his first moves. He eventually settled on moving his D pawn one square forward, looking up at his friend as he did so. "You sure you're okay?"
Turner frowned, his hoof hovering over his pawns. "Well...I have been worried about retaliation..."
"Don't. The press has made you and your family out as heroes. The Canter Nostra won't bother you or your family," Phil said as Time Turner moved his B pawn ahead two squares. "Besides, their problem isn't with you."
"Yes, about that," Turner replied, giving Phillip a look. "I've been thinking about Straight Flush. He wasn't really a bad pony, you know. He just made some mistakes."
Phil let out an angry huff through his nostrils. "An addiction to gambling doesn't justify—"
"I wasn't trying to excuse his behavior," Turner said in an unusually firm voice, holding up a hoof. "I would be the last one to do that. But he wasn't a real criminal, not like those other gangsters. He doesn't deserve to get hurt."
Phil seemed to chew on his thoughts for several moments, his jaw grinding, before finally letting out a sigh. "Yeah, I...I may have been a bit harsh on him." He was about to move another pawn, but then stopped, noticing the uncharacteristic harshness in Turner's gaze. He sighed. "I'll reach out to some contacts in the Guard, tell them to keep an eye on him...keep him safe."
"Good," Turner smiled, snatching Phil's pawn in the blink of an eye. "You know, Phillip, you can be a bit...aggressive at times. But I really do appreciate what you did for me and for my family."
"For you, Turner, I have all the time in the world," Phil replied with a smile.
The chess game between the two friends lasted until 9:43, and ended with a stunning checkmate on Turner's part involving his two rooks and a pawn that Phil didn't see coming until it was too late. Laughing, the two shook hooves and departed each other's company. Turner walked back to Drury Lane and entered his home to be greeted by the aroma of banana muffins fresh from the oven. With a grin, Ditzy leapt towards him, but stumbled and wound up knocking him over, ending up lying on top of him on the floor.
"Whoops!" she said.
Turner just chuckled and pulled her down for a kiss. His wife may mess up from time to time, but it really wasn't so bad.
Author's Notes:
And that's the end.
I hope you enjoyed this story and are looking forward to the next one!
Chapter notes
Part 1
—As noted in Time Flies, in the "Phillipverse" of my stories, Time Turner suffers from mild OCD.
—In poker, a straight flush is a hand that contains five cards, all of the same suit, in sequence (e.g. the 9, 10, Jack, Queen and King of Spades). It is the highest-ranking poker hand.
Part 2
—"Great whickering stallions!": reference to the episode Slice of Life.
—Time Turner finds the sound of a clock ticking soothing: it calms him down.
—Dinky loves her parents, but she is far, far too familiar with their relationship with disaster.
—"I just don't know what went wrong!": reference to The Last Roundup. This is going to be a frequent phrase heard around Derpy.
—Also in the Phillipverse, Dinky has inherited some of her father's OCD, which manifests as mild germaphobia.
Part 3
—Drury Lane: reference to the nursery rhyme "Do you know the muffin man?" which is a reference to Derpy's love of muffins.
—Ditzy's fighting style is similar to drunken boxing, which I thought would be a good fit for her.
Part 4
—Canter Nostra: play on Cosa Nostra, Italian for "our thing," the proper name for the Italian Mafia.
—"Allons-y!": French for "Let's go!" Reference to Slice of Life, which is itself a reference to Turner frequently being compared to the Tenth Doctor from Doctor Who.
Part 5
—The chapter title, "The Clock Tower," is also the title of a 1995 survival horror point-and-click video game.
—"Neither rain nor snow nor sleet nor vicious criminals!": play on the US Postal Service unofficial creed, "Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds."
Author's Notes:
Chapter notes from the story.