Viktor and the Clockmaker

For all of its grandeur, one singular tipped-over candle saw the devourment of Harlow’s workshop. Flames licked their way along the wooden beams, eating at the foundation until there was nothing but ashes as leftovers. When the structure finally collapsed in a smoking heap, the people of Mirren gathered around to share a collective gasp.

Their eyes had wandered past the crushed and smoldering corpse of old man Harlow, fixated instead upon the body of a young fellow splayed out against the cobblestone. 

A needleworker — Megara — kneeled next to them, hands roaming up and down limbs, searching for signs of broken seams along the expanse of brown skin. Then, she lowered her ear to their chest. From below their ribcage came the steady ticks of a clockwork heart. 

“Well?” a man called out.

“Still functioning,” Megara replied, “but human? Perhaps, not quite yet.”

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“I don’t remember much, except that Harlow was excited about it,” Viktor admitted as Megara led them down a winding road toward the edge of town, her grip admonishing their arm. 

“We all were,” Megara huffed, hiking up her dress as they passed through a thick brush. An atelier slowly came into view. It was a building that was taller than it was wide, with ivy curling around the pillars and crawling up the walls toward the peak. Though weather and time had worn it down by chipping away at its once bright coating of paint and tearing shingles off parts of the roof, Megara only hastened.

“You were about to be completed,” she said. “Now it’s almost time for the Mirren Exposition and your heart is still malfunctioning. How could he be so careless?”

Viktor bit their lip. “I’m sure it was a mistake.”

“A major one.”

“Yes, but without Harlow, I wouldn’t be here in the first place.” They pulled their arm back, tentatively rubbing their wrist where her nails had dug in. “Meg, we’ll be alright. If Ulric’s done it once, he can do it again.”

She sighed. “For the town’s sake, I’d hope you’re right.”

Megara gave three sharp raps to the atelier’s door. Footsteps grew closer until the door was cracked open, revealing a young man with a thick pair of goggles covering his eyes. One hand was resting in the pocket of his leather apron while the other combed through platinum blond locks. 

Dyed, Viktor noted as they spotted his black roots. 

“Felix?” Megara exclaimed, attempting to peer behind him. “Where’s Ulric?”

“Hello to you too,” Felix said flatly, lifting his goggles up so that Viktor properly met his gaze. His attention lingered for a touch too long before he glanced away, the intensity of his stare leaving Viktor’s throat dry. “As for Ulric, he’s on a trip. Won’t be back for another two weeks.”

“But the Mirren Exposition will be over by then!”

“So?” Felix leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Ulric finished making that heart for Harlow. Why does he have to stay around for the town’s little fun fair?”

Megara spluttered. “In case of an emergency! Viktor’s new heart melted in a fire.”

“Tough luck.”

“Felix Ng! At least help us if Ulric isn’t here. You’ve been apprenticing under him for a few years now. Surely you have access to his plans. You must know how to follow them and recreate his work.”

“I’m in the middle of a project. Tell Harlow that I’ll give him the plans tomorrow and he can figure it out himself.”

Before Felix could shut the door, Megara wedged herself in between the crack, eliciting a scowl. She advanced into the atelier, pulling Viktor along with her. The three of them stood in a circle, sunlight creeping in through the window to illuminate the sharpness of her face.

“Harlow is dead,” Megara said, jabbing her finger at him. “His one hope has always been to see Viktor to completion. Can you do the courtesy of granting a dead man’s wish? For once, could you be kind?”

“I have before.”

“We both know what happened several springs ago.”

Viktor watched as Felix flushed red, saying something indiscernible to Megara through gritted teeth. They expected him to shove both of them out shortly after, cursing them all the while. Instead, he gestured for them to follow him deeper into the atelier. A flight of stairs took the trio upwards, past landings that led to cluttered bedrooms and leisurely spaces filled with knickknacks and old dishes. 

At the top of the spiral steps was a room with items crammed in every corner. Viktor couldn’t help but gape. Harlow’s workshop had been draped in expensive fabrics, needles, pincushions, and multiple pairs of silver scissors. Meanwhile, Ulric’s was decorated by sheets of metal, wood, loose gears, and an assortment of tools — screwdrivers, magnifying glasses, pliers, tweezers. Their marveling was cut short once Felix unfurled a roll of paper. As it spilled across the floor, intricate sketches of the newest model of the clockwork heart were revealed.

“Megara, what do you notice?” Felix asked.

Blinking, she replied. “There’s a lot of steps written down. Why?”

“So that if I don’t finish this in time, your first conclusion won’t be because I was feeling spiteful. I’d rather not be the talk of the town again.” He gave a low hum. “If I start working on it now, it’d be close to the deadline, but it’d be possible. Can’t say an exact date though.”

“That’s fine. Viktor can just stay with you,” she said, nudging them forward. “You have the space now. Whenever you’re finished, do the surgery and send them right back.”

Felix stared at Viktor, his hands on his hips. “You’re okay with that?”

“I — It doesn’t bother me, if you’re alright with it.”

“Fine. Show yourself out, Megara.”

Without so much as a goodbye, she left with a self-satisfied smile. 

Felix didn’t talk much to them in the following days, which Viktor supposed was fair. They were a stranger thrown into his home unceremoniously, and though they could’ve gone anywhere else in the atelier, they preferred to watch him as he worked. It was a personal fascination. They couldn’t help it.

The very thing that kept Viktor alive was being crafted now by slender fingers that carefully slotted metal parts together. Harlow had described Ulric’s work to them before. Clockwork hearts gave cloth creations life. They cast a glamour over them, hiding the fabrics that they were cut from. Harlow had started small with chittering birds before transitioning to creatures as bulking as bears. As he became more adventurous, more people came from nearby towns to attend the exposition, and for a beautiful period in time, Mirren flourished.

If Viktor was fixed in time, then it would at least continue for one more year.

“What do you think of yourself?” Felix asked one morning while fidgeting with a screwdriver. He had been toying with it for the past few minutes. 

Viktor paused, tilting their head. “What do you mean?”

“What are you? How do you see yourself?”

“As incomplete.” At Felix’s grimace, Viktor spoke again, recalling Harlow’s comments. “It’s the truth. I think of it as an illness. There’s something wrong with my body now, but with the right procedure, it’ll only be temporary.” They shuffled closer to him, placing their hand on his. “Thank you by the way. I don’t think Megara said that to you yet.”

Felix snorted. “I doubt she ever will.”

“You two don’t get along well, do you?”

“That much is obvious.”

“Why?”

“It’s a complicated story."

“So it has intrigue. Tell me, you’re due for a break anyway.”

He gave Viktor an amused look, stopping his fidgeting entirely. “In case you’ve missed it somehow, Mirren’s big on courting and relationships. Everyone either gets engaged young or finds someone to date once they’re past year fourteen. If it doesn’t work out, then you keep trying. When I used to live in town, they tried pairing me up with a lot of people, Megara included.”

“You were lovers?” 

“Hardly. She didn’t even like me either.” 

That part made sense, Viktor supposed. Megara’s romantic intrigue lay with persons who were socially apt, men and women alike who could slip into conversation with a certain grandeur as if they’d always been there. She also enjoyed having the last say in any decision concerning herself, so their relationship would probably have been a failure anyway. Yet what did not make sense was the lingering hatred.

“If you both didn’t want to be engaged, then why the upset?”

Felix bristled, keeping his gaze downcast. “I…My family had always told me that I had to settle down soon. All my younger siblings were partnered off. My friends were planning wedding dates. I kept telling them I wasn’t ready and eventually, I just told them that I’d never be. They tricked me into meeting Megara the day after and I wasn’t exactly kind about it.”

“Oh. I’m sorry they rushed you into it. Megara told me that these sorts of things can be done slowly,” Viktor said, causing him to flinch. “She only started courting again a week ago.”

“That’s not it,” Felix bit out. “I’m not interested in any of that nonsense at all.”

“Nonsense?”

“Never mind. Forget it.” He picked up his screwdriver and turned away, focusing intently on Ulric’s old plans. Making a shooing motion with his hand, he added, “there’s leftovers in the kitchen. Go eat something. You’re ruining my concentration.”

Viktor did just that, noting the lack of bite in his words. Over a bowl of vegetable stew, they mulled over their conversation. It was the longest one that they had shared thus far. In the coming days, that fact would remain. 

It wasn’t as if Felix was cold toward them, but he seemed skittish. He’d make extra food, attend to their laundry, and let Viktor continue observing him. However, there were moments where he’d give them a long, searching look. It was the same one that he wore when examining the mechanisms of the older models of clockwork hearts for comparison. If Viktor were to catch him doing it, he’d excuse himself from the room immediately.

Peculiar.

“How have I never heard of you before?” Viktor asked days later as they sat together on the couch, pressing wildflowers between empty pages. It was an activity that Megara had done with them once, which they proposed that Felix and them do as a well-earned break. And though he had initially protested about having to muddy his overalls, he’d picked bluebells without complaint. 

“After what happened, I doubt anyone likes to mention me,” he said, “which is fine. And when it comes to business, I like leaving any talking to Ulric.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s alright. As long as I help him out here, I keep a roof over my head.” A beat passed. “Do you miss Harlow?”

Viktor pursed his lips. “I suppose. I’m grateful to him for bringing me to life, but we — I’ve never felt close to him. Sometimes I felt that he barely saw me as human.”

“Why does that matter? The town doesn’t see you like that either.”

“Yes, but with Harlow, it was obvious.” Viktor nestled closer to him, readjusting the torn petals on their shared page. Felix had been insistent on collecting flowers that were damaged too. It gave the final product personality, he claimed. “Meg and the others don’t bring it up in every conversation.”

“You’re okay with that?” His knee knocked against theirs. “It’s the same opinion.”

“Which is also mine too. I may know that I’m defective, but is it so terrible to not want to be constantly reminded of it?”

Another beat passed. “I suppose, but for the record, I don’t see you as that.”

And for a moment, Viktor stilled, looking at him with a shimmer in their eyes. “You don’t?”

Felix shook his head, strands of hair falling out of place. “Your heart is working just fine. You might not be able to fall in love, but why does that matter?” He laid his hand on their chest, carefully touching the area where the clockwork mechanism ticked beneath a woven exterior. “You’re already human.”

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Viktor peered at their reflection in the mirror, Felix’s words replaying in their head. They’d never heard anyone say that about their condition before. How odd. How scandalous. How pleasing. They could still feel the warmth of his hand when it had traced their skin and the shudder that had shot through them when he denied their malfunction.

That alone had compelled Viktor to this moment, scrutinizing their body and reminding themself that it was flawed. It was a necessity, especially when their mind kept returning to Felix. They sighed, wondering how they could be so easily swayed to rethinking their decision. Afterall, hadn’t they wanted this? Hadn’t the desire to be flayed open and rewired always been theirs?

Viktor placed their forehead against the mirror, letting out a groan.

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From the moment they were made, Harlow told Viktor with no degree of uncertainty that they would fall in love. It would come as naturally as breathing. Harlow insisted that everyone had an instinctive drive that led them to seek out their wondrous other half, the one who would understand them like no one else would. 

It was what made them human.

So once Harlow had finished inspecting Viktor for any functioning issues, he had introduced them to potential candidates around the town. If they could be partnered off by the exposition, or even find a lover there, then it would be the biggest success that Mirren would ever see.

They met men with kind eyes, women with gorgeous smiles, and persons who were neither, but had laughs that were akin to a melody. 

Yet over the next few months, Viktor held no such infatuations.

They weren’t even the slightest bit smitten.

“You might be defective,” Harlow said to them after another failed courtship, his voice hushed. His hands were laid flat against Viktor’s chest. “I’ll have to cut you open.”

“Oh,” Viktor said, a feeling they couldn’t quite place slithering its way into their stomach. “Oh.”

They’d been sitting on the workshop’s staircase when Ulric brought over the newest version of their heart, which was wrapped snugly in cloth. Harlow greedily took it, the excitement on his face palpable. 

Clapping Ulric on the shoulder, he said, “old friend, you never fail me.”

Through a storm of thank yous and praise, the other man weathered through it awkwardly, shifting weight from one foot to the next. “While I share your joy, I have to be honest. There wasn’t anything that I changed. You know that every iteration of my work has been with the purpose of granting life — not ensuring romantic entanglements.”

“Ah, but that’s a part of living, isn’t it?” Harlow frowned at Ulric’s lack of response. “I admit that I may be hasty. Some of us do take longer to find our other half.”

“That isn’t what ails me,” Ulric said, running a hand through his peppered locks. “I cannot believe you wish to dismantle this fellow over — over this. Why not simply ask them to lie?”

Harlow sucked in a breath. “It’s for the best. Put yourself in my position. Even if I were to be dishonest, how could I let Viktor live the rest of their life like this? To be alone one day with no one to care for them? I won’t indulge in a tragedy.”

“I never asked you to.” Ulric sighed. “I should take my leave. Before you begin cutting their seams, at least for my peace of mind, ask the poor fellow for permission first.”

For a brief moment, the man’s attention flitted to Viktor, whose body was engulfed in the dark shadows of the workshop’s top floor. Though they were certain that he couldn’t see them from this angle, somehow, his eyes stared directly into theirs. 

“You’re beyond playing dolls.”

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The next few days found Viktor and Felix making a habit out of dedicating their afternoon to doing activities together. When the latter would start hissing at Ulric’s plans during a particularly difficult step, the former would announce that they were due for a joint break. Between foraging for berries and watching frogs by the creek, conversation came naturally. As did laughter.

Then, two nights before the Mirren Exposition, Megara paid them a visit. Viktor was laying in bed when she arrived. Groggy and disoriented, they didn’t register anything that she said. However, her voice was unmistakable. It cut through the air like a razor against skin.

By the time Viktor made their way downstairs, she had already gone. Felix stood still with his hand gripping the doorknob, his knuckles white. 

“Are you alright?” Viktor asked, causing him to stiffen. In a softer tone, “what did she say?”

“She asked if you could be back by tomorrow evening.” Felix curled in on himself, reminding the other of a cornered beast. 

“Are you not done?”

“That’s not — Never mind, I can finish it now and do the surgery in the morning.”

He hurried off, his footsteps echoing harshly throughout the atelier. Viktor lingered at the spot where he had just been, moonlight illuminating the stray bluebell petals scattered across the floor like debris. They bent down, rolling one in between their index and thumb. They recalled Felix resting his head against their shoulder then, warmth blooming in their chest. There had been a pleasure in simply being together.

They’d almost forgotten about the surgery.

Surgery.

Viktor suppressed a shudder.

Morning came far too quickly. Instead of their usual breakfast routine, Viktor found themself stripped bare, laying on their back atop a workbench. They didn’t dare to turn their head. When they’d done it earlier, they caught sight of the assortment of sharp blades and scissors and immediately balked. 

This is for the best, they repeated in their head like a mantra. Harlow said it. So did Megara and the entirety of the town. Who was Viktor to deny their knowledge, especially the elders that had seen the necessity of devoted partnerships time and time again? 

“You’re shaking,” Felix said, lacing their fingers together. 

“I know.”

“Are you ready?”

Viktor stilled. “Will it hurt?” 

“I’m not sure.” He gave their hand a firm squeeze before letting go. There was the clink of metal tools being shifted around. “I can only promise you that I’ll be kind.”

“That’s all you’ve been to me.”

As Felix came to hover over them, Viktor closed their eyes. They waited for the first incision to be made, for a blade to pierce their fabricated skin. Once their heart was pulled out, they would be temporarily inanimate. Only the reimplementation would bring them back. Goosebumps prickled along the length of their arms and legs. This was for the best.

However, that cut never came.

Viktor pushed themself up, finding Felix on his knees before them. In his palms was the newly built clockwork heart, held out like an offering — held with the delicateness that a lover might with a ring in proposal. But the scene was anything but charming. His breathing was ragged. Tears rolled down his cheeks, wetting the front of his overalls.

“I…I can’t do this.” A gasp for air. “Forgive me, I’m selfish.”

“Selfish?” Viktor frowned. “You?”

“I’ve tried to go against my own feelings about this, but I can’t do it anymore. To tear you apart is an affront to myself. I’ll give you this heart, these tools, and these plans so long as I don’t have to be the one to do this.” 

Viktor drew a blanket around their body before lowering themself to the floor. As they took the clockwork heart into their hands, Felix flinched. If they found Megara now, they were sure that, with her seamstress skills, she could figure out how to reassemble them. There was no challenge that she backed down from if the payoff was promising. Still, they lingered.

“Why?” Viktor whispered. “If you’re worried about my pain, it’s alright.”

“It’s an act of violence.”

“Violence can be kind.” They forced the next words out of their mouth, wondering when they became so difficult to utter. “This will fix me.”

Felix rubbed furiously at his eyes, snapping, “that’s the problem! I told you — I don’t see you as broken. I won’t stop you from doing this if it’s what you truly want, but I…I left Mirren when all my courtships fell through. I couldn’t deal with their constant jeering anymore. Everyone called me a heartless freak because I couldn’t make myself want someone the way they asked me to. I still can’t and I don’t think I ever want to.” He sniffled. “Don’t you get it? Do you understand what this means for me?”

His words tapered off at the end. Turning the mechanism over in their hands, Viktor replayed their time together. During those early days, they assumed that Felix’s searching gaze was borne of scrutiny, and perhaps it had been. It just wasn’t directed at them.

They thought back to when Harlow had introduced them to Megara for the first time as a potential lover. They were drawn together like creeping vines were to turrets, entangled in the joys of a newfound connection. There was a brief period wherein they slept in the same bed, trading the occasional kiss. It was the dream that Harlow had promised, and though Viktor longed for her when they were apart, it never felt right to say they were in love with her. So it ended, and when that label of lovers was removed, they spent the next while frolicking around Mirren with a lightness in their chest. Amicable as it was, gossip spread anyway.

“A shame,” someone had muttered in passing. “It would’ve been perfect.”

It could have been, if not for their defect. They could have had it, the perfect life that everyone touted. Now, they had that chance again. Viktor rose to their feet, asking themself one simple question.

Did they care to fall in love? 

The answer was immediate.

Yes.

Heart in hand, Viktor threw it to the ground, sending gears and metal fragments spilling across the atelier’s floor. Felix jolted, gasping at the scattered parts. When he finally found his voice, all he could say was — 

“Why?” 

Viktor tilted their head back, their heart beating against their ribcage. That ‘yes’ was said in Harlow’s voice.

───────────────

“They’re human,” Megara said to a visitor on the day of the Mirren Exposition, gesturing toward Viktor, who sat on a small wooden stage. “Harlow built them to be capable of doing anything that a normal person could do. Isn’t that right, Vik?”

Viktor glanced at their left, where Felix was awkwardly pressed up against them. As they wrapped their arm around the taller man, they reminisced about the evening after the surgery fell through. With gears swept and trashed, the two of them had gone outside and laid out in the middle of the woods, divulging once guarded sentiments easily as if they’d become loose lipped from liquor. As they had dozed off together, limbs intertwined, all Viktor could think about was the desire to do it again.

It was a relationship of sorts — a type of intimacy that could not be defined by anyone, but the pair involved.

Viktor beamed, resting their head on Felix’s shoulder, which earned them an exaggerated eye roll. “She’s right. I can even love.”