Lacuna at the Pendulum Clock

Late at night, Lacuna opens the narrow door of the pendulum clock. The latch makes a small, blunt sound. Behind it, the ticking is suddenly less like a voice and more like work.

Above the pendulum, the anchor rocks. One end releases the escape wheel; a tooth slips forward, and the other end catches it. Tick. Then the movement reverses. Another tooth, another arrest.

Lacuna leans closer without touching. The little anchor does not simply hold the wheel back. At each release, the driven wheel gives the pendulum a small push. The swing permits the clock to advance; the clock returns enough energy for the swing to continue.

For a moment, Lacuna tries to take a breath at every tick. Too quick. The next breath takes two swings in, two swings out. Nothing in the mechanism adjusts to this arrangement. The brass continues its exact, indifferent exchange.

There is no need to improve it by laying a finger on it.

After a few more swings, Lacuna closes the door carefully, keeping the latch from snapping. The ticking becomes muffled again. Within the case, each small release still receives its answer.