Like Clockwork

A Story by Koda Bear

Deep within the country of Veltemore lies the Lincourt province, and within Lincourt there's a quiet little town called Atlia. Atlia was sweetly nestled between Rosegrass Hollow and Butterland Point. Within Atlia lived one young boy named Olivander Pikminton. Olivander was very average boy, at least he was in his own eyes. He kept his blond hair cut short and his trousers neatly pressed. He practiced fencing with his father, and piano with his mother. Olivander was very studious boy and always made sure he minded his manners.

Beyond Rosegrass Hollow, past Westerhurst and just north of Valgate was Fellcastle; and at it's heart was Prylyn, nicknamed Clockwork Town. Prylyn was glimmering gem in a province that shone with radiance. Fellcastle was known for its brilliant minded citizens, it was even theorized all children born in Fellcastle would grow to be genius. In Fellcastle inventors and alchemists created wonderful, joyous things, and Prylyn was where you bought them all.

Prylyn got its nickname because it was the most technological advanced city in all of Veltemore. There were machines that did calculations for you, electrical powered transports, and of course a beautiful assortment of clocks. There were large ones, small ones, stationary, ones, and portable ones. There were clocks made of copper, brass, and gold; Prylyn was full of clocks. It was said were you ever to ask the time in Prylyn over 100 people would answer you in perfect harmonization down to the very second. Though not all was well in sweet little Prylyn, for where there are wares, there are those that wish to steal them.

One day Olivander set out to Clockwork Town by order of his father. He walked alongside the family's Shetland pony, Fara. Fara had a chocolate colored coat and splotches of cream that matched her mane and tail. Like most of her breed, Fara wasn't very tall. Her head only came to Olivander's shoulder, and he didn't consider himself very tall for his age. Still, Fara had been in the family for years, and her petite size didn't make her any less of a hard worker. She pulled along a cart filled with sweet crunchy apples and leafy green spinach. There were big, beautiful heads of cabbage and carrots the color of sunrise. Potatoes that had been washed and scrubbed, and baskets of berries that glittered like jewels were all piled high on Fara's cart. In a small barrow that he pulled, Olivander had a basket of warm baked rolls, two containers of freshly churned cream, rich creamy butter, and a delightful assortment of cheeses.

Fellcastle was hosting it's annual Autumn Harvest festival and vendors from all over would be out at full force and Olivander had been sent to secure a spot for Rosegrass Hollow, Butterland Point and Atlia. The three small villages all sold goods from the same shop. It was their little building to sell from if they kept up the gold required for each month and had at least on person there to make trades and hold down their position. If no one was there during the time of a festival, regardless if rent had been payed or not, another vendor was allowed to buy that spot for the day. The festival was a big event in Veltemore, and vendors from all over the country were sending out their best goods in preparation.

Buttlerland Point and Rosegrass Hollow were known for their rich, creamy dairy products, and delicious produce. Atlia wasn't particularly famous for anything, apart from it's close relations with the other two villages, but it gained visitors and wealth from it's neighbors. The villages of Rosegrass Hallow, Butterland Point and Atlia were one close-knit family.

Upon entering the town gates of Prylyn, Olivander's mouth fell open. He had been to Clockwork Town once before, but never had it looked so splendid. Banners and streamers hung across buildings, and balloons decorated small stands. The rich inventors had devices that shot fountains of gold sparks, while the alchemists had beakers that spilled different colored smoke into the air. The watchmakers had little cuckoo birds that sang, and the musicians played joyful songs as they danced about on the cobblestone pathways.

He took in the sights with awe and wonder smiling courteously at those who acknowledged him. He came to a small little store made of what appeared to be the same stone that was under his feet. It was small and quiet looking, much like the villages that would be selling there. Above the door was a wooden sign that had the words 'Atlia Rose Point' carved into it. Olivander beamed with pride. The idea of combining the names of the three villages had been his idea. He started to open the door when Fara gave a whiny of distress from behind him. He turned and gasped sharply in surprise before his sapphire blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Surrounding Fara's cart was a gang of grubby looking children, smacking noisily on the apples from her load.

“Say here!” Olivander cried, marching over to them. “You can't just do as you please, this produce is for the festival!”

A boy in worn, tattered clothing and dark hair stepped forward. His knickerbockers were faded and dirty, one of his suspenders was missing, and his dark locks were knotted and snarled beneath a battered newsboy cap. He bit into the apple with a loud crunch and laughed aloud.

“Who's gonna stop me, then? You?” He laughed harder, and the boys with him chimed in.
“Aye, what'ere you gonna do cogstuffer?” One boy with brown hair snapped, snatching up a roll from Olivander's wheelbarrow.
“Stop that! Stop that this instant, I say!” Olivander reached for the roll even as the boy bit into it, tossing it to an equally dirty child in green. He extended his hand for a piece of cheese when Olivander smacked his hand away. The boy recoiled in surprise, then quickly his expression shifted to one of anger.

“Oi! That ruddy, no good cogstuffer just hit me, he did!”

“I most certainly did, and I shall do it again if you do not mind your manners. Children are supposed to behave, what do you think you'll gain by stealing?”
“Food.” The child in green responded, in a voice much quieter than the other boys.
“Keep quiet, Basil.” said the boy next to the child, who appeared to be taller than the rest.
“Who are all of you? Where are your parents?” Olivander questioned, guiding Fara and her cart behind him as best as he could. He stared quizzically at the children, noting none of them appeared to be too much older than he was.

“Alec Swinley, and these is me mates.” The first boy said, snatching a hand full of berries from the cart before Olivander had a chance to stop him. “This here's Darron Strater,” he said dropping a few berries into the cupped hands of the boy Olivander had reprimanded.
“Mitchel Wierkirk.” Swinley said dropping a few of the berries into the hands of a taller boy, who's dingy blue suspenders were still intact.

“And this here's Basil Hoff.” Basil was the small child in green, with stringy blond hair and bright blue eyes. Olivander noticed Basil got the largest handful while Swinley saved only a single strawberry for himself. He also noticed with disgust that the berry juice appeared to be the only liquid the gang's hands had come in contact with. The small rivers of red and blue lightly washing away the dirt that marred their palms. He glanced into the basket in Fara's cart which he had ushered behind him to make sure he wouldn't be selling any dirt covered fruit.
“Swindley and the Gang.” The grubby dark hair boy beamed, after dropping the ruby colored fruit into his mouth. “And we ain't got no ruddy parents, cogstuffer. Dun need 'em.” Olivander scowled, narrowing his eyes lightly.
“Why do you keep calling me that rude name? If you wish to call me by something you may use my name. It's Olivander Pikminton.” he started to extend his hand for a shake, but quickly thought the better of it and bowed instead.
“A cogstuffer is a person with money, clart for brains.” Olivander blinked and stared at Swinley curiously.

“Why do you call them that?”
“This one's a bit daft 'in he, Swinley?” Darron guffawed.
“Prylyn is full of watchmakers.” Basil said softly. “It's what this place is known for. People who make watches are just shoving cogs into places.”

“Clart for brains.” Mitchel said firmly.
Olivander frowned and and tilted his wheelbarrow pushing it into the store. He didn't have time to deal with a bunch of disrespectful orphans. His father would be coming soon, and he didn't even have the shop set up. To his dismay the children were still huddled outside when he unhitched Fara and brought her cart inside the building.

“Oi, cogstuffer. What are you doing?” Swinley asked, sauntering into the small building, his crew of grubby followers filing in behind him. Olivander frowned but put the containers of cream into the icebox the store was provided with.

“I'm preparing shop for my father, Mr. Swinley.” Olivander spoke in tone that was surprisingly clipped for him.

“Yer a right boring sod, ain'tchya?” Darron laughed, flopping himself down onto the shop's floor.
“No, I'm responsible. You children could stand to learn the value of hard work as well. I'm sure you'd find it far more rewarding that stealing.”
“Ha! There ain't nothin better than being a rat, cogstuffer. No rules, no bed time, we do whatever we want.” Swinley grinned.
“And how is that glamorous lifestyle going for you?” Olivander smiled smugly, as he placed the berries in the fridge as well.
“Far better than yours, cogstuffer.” Mitchel snapped. “We get to enjoy festivals and have fun whenever we want. Do you know what that is, gear licker?”

Olivander's face paled and her frowned at the new insult.
“Aye 'ees to muchuva ninny ta be a cogstuffer, eh? A genuine gear licker!” Darron howled with laughter from his position on the floor.
“Or a glitter fingers.” Basil said quietly. Olivander found he was hurt most by the softly spoken insults than any of the ones from the other children. He didn't dare ask what glitter fingers meant, but it felt offensive nonetheless.

“Ha! Brilliant, you two!” Swinley cheered watching Olivander neatly put away all the things he had carried with him. “Which is it then? Cogstuffer, gear licker, or glitter fingers?”

“Not one of them, thank you very much. My name is Olivander.” He paused, thoughtful for a moment. “And I do know how to have fun.”
“Aye? Doin what? Countin yer gold coins?”

“Riding about on your father's horse?”
“Flaunting your wealth in front of orphans?”

Basil's final question cast the room to silence, as four pairs of beady eyes pierced Olivander to his core.
“Bet you ain't never had fun in your life.” Swinley sneered.
“Betcha 'ee gets his kicks watchin hounds tear into rabbits. You like watchin yer pa's dogs kill things, cogstuffer?” Darron's eyes narrowed.
“Have you ever even played with other kids?” Mitchel interrogated, folding his arms.
Olivander's small frame nearly shook with fury as he stared at all of them. He had shared his food with them, albeit unwillingly, but he hadn't reported them. He hadn't made any of them do his bidding with the promise of a gold piece. He had corrected them, but this slew of insults was uncalled for.
“Get out of my shop.” he said quietly.
“Wuzzat then, gear licker?” Darron snickered.
“I requested that all of you disgusting children remove yourself from my property or I shall have to report you for stealing.”

The children stared at Olivander in shock, before a loud scoff sliced through the thick tension.
“Your no bigger than us, but you sure know how to talk down to people without money, don't you, cogstuffer?” Alec frowned guiding his gang out of the store. The group jumped and made faces at Fara on their way out sending the filly into a panic, before storming off.

Olivander scowled and went about the shop, cleaning and dusting trying to silence the echoing words that resounded in his head. He wasn't a rich stuck up, was he? He did what his father asked, and he tried to be as kind as he could to the other children. He helped prepare and wash the fruits and vegetables for market. He played piano and compared sheet music with other boys in the village. That was fun, wasn't it? He listened bitterly to the sound of the other children running and playing just outside the storefront. When was the last time he'd played so carefree like that?
“Right then! If ya can't catch it ya gotta kick a bobby, alright?” Darron whooped with excitement hurling a toy that looked to new to have been in their possession for to long.
“Disrespectful thieves..” Olivander muttered, unable to pull himself away from the shop window as he watched the other children. He watched as the child known as Basil fumbled and struggled to catch the stolen object.

“Aha! You lose, Basil!” Darron called, his cry being met with cold stares. Olivander stared at them puzzled. Why was it to so bad that Basil had lost? The taller boy, who Olivander guessed was 13 pulled off Basil's cap and gave his long dirty blond locks a ruffle.

“I'll take care of the bobby.” Mitchel smiled softly. Olivander stared hard tilting his head to the side curiously. Why were they protecting the younger boy? He squinted out the window and gasped softly, taking in the child's petite form. Basil wasn't a boy at all! She was a girl and the other boys were protecting her by dressing her up like a boy. His heart softened a bit at the disgusting children running through the streets. He watched as Mitchel nodded to the other orphans who took their positions hiding behind barrels and storefronts. Mitchel made his way to the bobby patrolling the area.

Olivander watched in wide eyed fascination. Was he really going to it? He found himself jealous of the other children, enjoying carefree lives, doing whatever they wished while here he had everything a young boy could ask for, and he found himself envious of a life of poverty. He scowled at himself angrily. 'Clart for brains' Weirkirk's words rang in his head. He frowned but watched as Mitchel pointed in another direction, the bobby turned and the older boy kicked him hard in the shin before racing towards the shop. Olivander gasped, he was going to lead the bobby here?! To his astonishment, the other children followed his lead and ran towards Olivander's shop pulling the door open and racing inside all finding various places to hide.

“Wh-what?! J-just what do you?”
“Shh! Quiet, cogstuffer.” came a hiss from some hidden location.

Olivander surprised himself by smiling lightly at the sound of Alec's voice when a loud knock at the door made him jump. He pulled it open and there stood a fuming officer.
“Are you the owner of this store, son?” He scowled, looking over Olivander's shoulder for any sign of the orphans.
“I-I'm acting as shopkeeper until my father gets here from Atlia, sir.” Olivander explained. The officer nodded, finally shifting his gaze to Olivander.
“Is there anyone else in your shop? A group of orphans have been causing trouble. Are you keeping them here?” Olivander paled, he'd hate to think what would happen to the children, particularly Basil. She'd surely be separated from the rest of them, but he wasn't a liar. He was responsible and well mannered. And yet..
“Can you describe the children for me, sir? Do you know their names perhaps?” The bobby frowned, staring down at Olivander's small frame, raising a brow as he leaned closer.

“You do know hiding criminals is punishable by law, don't you, son?” Olivander stared quietly, his mind racing. How he longed to be rebellious and carefree, live like the children currently hidden away, but how could he? What would his father think? He was a good boy.
“Yes sir, but I haven't seen any orphans.” Olivander lied, surprising himself by keeping a straight face. “If I do I'll alert the authorities.” The bobby scowled, but nodded turning on his heel to go back on his patrol. As Olivander shut the shop door after him a single word slipped past his lips.

“Cogstuffer.”