Claps of thunder roused Joseph from a fitful sleep, a flash of lightning throwing him from his cot and onto the rough wooden floor. With a grunt, Joseph rolled onto his back, stretching his arms out slowly as his attic bedroom materialized before him, the rafters flickering with each successive lightning strike. His room was modest yet cozy, the aged wooden furniture lending the space a warmth only a home could possess.
His oil lamp still burned on his desk, standing watch over the previous night’s spoils, neatly stacked and counted, each coin weighed and sorted. Sleep was only allowed once he had divvied up the money; some for the bank, some for his mother and some for himself. And another share to stash under the loose floorboard for emergencies. The gold sat there glimmering, a welcome reminder of his grand success. Never had he thought he’d ever be looting the pockets of a noble, and yet there he was, waking up the next day like it was nothing. There was a stupid smile on his face as he remembered the walk back, his pockets had never been heavier.
With a deep breath, Joseph sat up and flexed his shoulders and arms, the muscles sore from the demanding climb. Next time, I take the stairs. Or grow wings, he thought to himself as he got dressed, buttoning his shirt over the bruises and scars that marked his torso. Reminders of his mistakes, he told himself. And battle scars from nights spent training in the foundry district. The barbed wire fences made it particular good for honing his finesse. The counted the days where he didn’t have to sew any of his shirts a success. The other days he was glad his mother was losing her sight, otherwise he’d never hear the end of it.
The thought of his mother hastened his dressing. There was work to get doing. Filling a pouch with a third of the coin Joseph left the room, the smells of a fresh pot of tea guiding him down the steps. He shared a simple apartment in the Heart with his mother, ever since his father died of pneumonia several years back. There wasn’t any way they could afford their house in the residential district anymore, so they moved into the space above the shop his father kept, and continued his business.
Fred Bishop was a watchmaker and repairman, and just an all-round tinkerer. The apartment was littered with contraptions, some that worked, others that wouldn’t and some that Joseph had no clue how to even operate. He thought he’d find the time one day to investigate, but like all things that require free time, this one continued to slip out of his grasp. Especially once his mother began to lose her sight. That was when his father began to show him how to run the business, count the money, balance the books, order parts and keep things well oiled and running. Most wouldn’t believe it, but Bishop’s Watch and Repair had a kid barely old enough to shave pulling the strings back when they were still busy.
They still got good business though, but without his father Joseph was unable to craft watches, just repair those that had broken. Profits had started to drop once they sold out of the watches his father had left behind, and Joseph had to find other means of making it back. He started by taking odd jobs out on the docks and in the warehouses but as his mothers health continued to decline, it became harder for him to be away for so long. The thought of coming home to find her fallen down or worse was too much.
So he stayed in the shop all day, fixing whatever people brought to him, Watches, clocks, locks, anything that had intricacies inside. He was not as good as his father, but he had other talents. He didn’t know if it had something to do with his father’s skill, or if it was just pure luck and coincidence, but Joseph found he had been born with the ability to bend air and time to his will, to an extent. Now this was something had excited his father beyond his expectations. His father had always told him stories about magicians and wizards, but to have a mage for a son, Joseph didn’t know what he would think. It followed that his younger self needn’t have worried for having magic in the family was only a blessing to his father, something to be honed and nurtured.
