Scrap Iron Town, a strange blend of Rotterdam Port's industrial grime and the lingering shadows of East Berlin, came alive at night. Old Tom's tavern was a hubbub of activity, as crowded as a beehive during honey harvest. The old oak bar counter, stained with whiskey and cracked in all directions, resembled a shabby, dirty T-shirt worn by a drunk in a London punk bar. I, Aiden, found comfort in this chaos. Sipping on my drink, I let the noise wash over me, pushing my worries to the back of my mind. The pocket watch in my coat pocket was a constant, yet unnoticed presence, until that fateful moment.
The gear clock's pendulum in the tavern swung back and forth with a rhythmic 'click — click —', its brass surface pitted with oxidation marks like Rotterdam dockworkers' fingerprints., as if they were whispering tales of times long past.
I was swirling my wine glass absentmindedly when, all of a sudden, the pocket watch in my pocket went haywire. It grew scorching hot, searing my palm with red marks that seemed to form the proportions of da Vinci's Vitruvian Man. The smell of Birmingham foundry soot wafted from it. "Bloody hell!" I yelped, instinctively flinging my hand. In my haste, I knocked over the beer glass on the next table. The glass, covered with fine scratches, the third indentation fitting perfectly with the grain of the bar counter, The scratches formed precise 120-degree angles – unmistakable Munich Oktoberfest stein marks left by generations of drinkers slamming ceramic mugs to expel CO₂ from wheat beers.a mark of a Stammkunden regular, shattered. The spilled beer formed patterns on the table like the tributaries of the Rhine, reflecting the brass rust of the gear chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
"Hey! What the blazes are you doing? You daft sod!" The burly man next to me shot up, his face contorted with rage, looking like he could tear me apart. Before I could utter an apology, the pocket watch's light grew blindingly bright. Then, with a thunderous "bang", it exploded like an ancient boiler. Iridescent steam burst forth, like the steam from a Venice glass workshop during quenching, and along with it, tiny metal shards with hints of Berlin Wall graffiti went flying.
At that very instant, Lia's hairpin started to warp. When it popped out, it made a sharp click, similar to the sound of a Swiss watch being taken apart. The spring inside revealed a spiral pattern, much like those in Leonardo da Vinci's manuscripts. "Scheiße! This decoder's more of a hassle than the London Underground during rush hour," Lia grumbled, fiddling with the misshapen hairpin.
Suddenly, a thought struck me. "Wait a sec... that pendulum's rhythm doesn't feel right. It's like... like the gear rhythm when I fixed the train schedule in Berlin last month." Why did I feel this odd connection between the pocket watch's explosion and the pendulum's movement?
Before I could dwell on it, the tavern erupted into complete chaos. "Oh no! The oven's blown up!" someone screamed at the top of their lungs. I turned to see oven fragments flying everywhere. Some embedded themselves in the wall, revealing the underlying pipes with traces of stardust, shaped like the fluorescent projection of the Copenhagen Metro lines, or perhaps more like the container matrix projection of Rotterdam Port. A strange smell filled my nostrils, a mix of Brussels waffle caramel and Rotterdam shipyard metal, a scent that instantly brought back memories of my mom's burnt apple pie.
I glanced at the scar on my palm, jagged like it had been scratched by a piece of the Berlin Wall. Panic welled up inside me. This scar was identical to the one I got in Birmingham last year, when my skin had turned red in the Vitruvian Man's proportions. What on earth was this pocket watch? Why did it explode? And why did this whole scene seem so eerily familiar?
Just as I was lost in thought, the tavern door burst open with a whoosh. Five guards from the Flint Group charged in, their mechanical eyes flashing like the searchlights of the Neustadt Security Bureau. "Don't move a muscle!" the lead guard roared. "We've got a report of someone stealing relics of the High-Dimensional Energy Aggregates (HEC)." My heart skipped a beat. Could the exploded pocket watch be those relics?
"Don't talk rubbish!" Lia stepped forward, tugging at her collar. "This uniform's fabric is rougher than that of the Madrid police. We haven't done nothing shady."
"Hmph, the evidence is right there," the guard sneered, pointing at the still-smoking pocket watch on the ground. "That thing blew up right out of your hands."
I was seething with anger, about to retort, when I noticed something strange. The iridescent steam seemed to form a pattern in the air, like the meshing of gears on an old-fashioned loom, but it vanished in an instant. I rubbed my eyes, wondering if I had imagined it.
Lia's hairpin was still spinning in her hand, making three and a half turns in the steam, much like the swirls created by a cruise ship's turbine on the Thames. "This decoder's more sensitive than the Paris Metro turnstile," she muttered. I wondered to myself, how did this hairpin turn into a decoder?
"Aiden, do you remember what happened back in our hometown when we were kids?" Lia asked out of the blue. My heart clenched. Those memories were something I'd tried hard to forget. When I was a kid, there was some upheaval in my family. I couldn't quite recall the details, but I remembered there were some strange occurrences, somewhat like the current situation.
"What are you on about, Lia?" I replied, not wanting to bring up the past. "I bet zehn Euro that this thing was made in a Ruhrgebiet Workshop," I said, quickly changing the subject and pointing at the pocket watch.
The Flint Group guards paid no heed to our conversation and started searching the tavern. "You'd better come clean. If you're involved with the HEC relics, you're in deep trouble."
I glared at the guards, feeling a mix of anger and anxiety. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed some of the mechanical patterns in the tavern seemed to shift subtly under the influence of the steam. They almost seemed to come alive, giving off a faint energy. I tugged at Lia's sleeve. "Look at those patterns. Ain't they a bit off?"
Lia glanced over and nodded. "Yeah, a bit, but we gotta focus on getting rid of these guards first."
Suddenly, one of the guards spotted the hairpin in Lia's hand. He lunged forward and grabbed her wrist. "What's this? Looks mighty suspicious to me."
"Let go of me!" Lia struggled. "It's just an ordinary hairpin, that's all. It's just bent out of shape."
"An ordinary hairpin? I don't buy it," the guard scoffed, turning it over and over in his hand.
I rushed to Lia's rescue. "Leave her alone, will you?"
Just then, the tavern lights flickered, casting an eerie glow. I felt my heart racing, as if something big was about to unfold.
"Aiden, remember that thing your dad left you?" Lia asked again amidst the chaos. My heart jolted. The old piece of metal with those strange non-Euclidean geometric topological patterns, it seemed somehow linked to all of this, but I'd never figured out its purpose.
"Stop blabbering. This ain't the time for that," I said, while trying to figure out how to escape this mess.
Just then, one of the guards accidentally bumped into a mechanical device on the wall. It let out a harsh screech, like the whistle of an old train starting up. Mechanical parts in the tavern began to loosen and fall, clattering to the floor.
"Watch out, everyone!" I shouted, pulling Lia to the side. The parts hit the ground, sending up a cloud of dust.
In the midst of the chaos, I recalled a sentence my dad had said to me when I was a kid. "Son, things ain't always what they seem. There's more behind 'em than you think." Back then, I didn't understand what he meant. Now, I wondered if it had something to do with the pocket watch, the steam, and these mechanical patterns.
"Aiden, we gotta get out of here, and fast," Lia whispered in my ear. I nodded. While the guards were dealing with the falling parts, we crept towards the back door.
But when we reached it, we found it locked. Lia looked at the hairpin in her hand. "Let's give this a go." She inserted the deformed hairpin into the keyhole and wiggled it around. With a click, the door opened. "See? This decoder comes in handy," she said proudly.
As soon as we stepped outside, we heard the guards shouting, "They've escaped! Activate the holographic projection blockade protocol!"
We took off running through the alleys of Scrap Iron Town, the guards' footsteps getting closer and closer. The buildings around us, once dilapidated, now cast long, menacing shadows in the moonlight, like monsters reaching out with their claws.
"Aiden, what do we do?" Lia panted. I was at a loss, my mind in a whirl. Then, I spotted an abandoned factory up ahead. "Let's hide in there," I said.
We dashed into the factory. It was pitch-black and smelled of rust. We crouched behind a stack of old machines, barely daring to breathe. The guards' footsteps echoed outside as they searched for us.
"They must be around here. Search every nook and cranny!" one of the guards commanded.
Lia and I huddled together, my heart pounding in my throat. The smell of caramel mixed with metal was stronger here than in the tavern. I was terrified, not knowing what awaited us.
Suddenly, an old machine in the factory started making a buzzing noise, as if it had been triggered by some unseen force. The guards heard the sound and surrounded the area.
"It's over. They've found us," Lia said Desperately.
In that critical moment, I saw a strange symbol on the machine. It resembled the meshing pattern of the old-fashioned loom's gears I'd seen in the tavern. I don't know where I found the courage, but I reached out and touched it.
To my surprise, the machine fell silent. Then, a hidden door appeared on the factory wall. I grabbed Lia and we rushed through the door. As soon as we were inside, the door closed behind us, and the machine groaned like a Ruhr coalmine elevator.
Outside, we heard the guards cursing. "How the hell did they disappear?"
Behind the hidden door, we listened as the guards' footsteps faded away. We let out a sigh of relief, but we had no idea where we were or where this door led. I knew that ever since the pocket watch exploded, my life had taken a strange turn, and it all seemed connected to my mysterious past. I thought of the piece of metal my dad had left me, with the coordinates of the Earth's core engraved on it (57°N, 24°E). What did it mean? When the pocket watch exploded, the old wound on my hand had started to ache, just like when I'd touched the HEC relics when I was ten. What was the link between them? It was all so confusing. And as we'd rushed through the hidden door, I'd caught a glimpse of some rusted Dwarvish inscriptions on the wall, strange symbols that seemed to tell an ancient story, but I hadn't had the time to look closer. I wondered what other strange things awaited me on this unexpected journey.