The red and black plaid blanket on which the tiny scruffy dog slept had seen better days.  It had been mended many times, and by the most skilled sewing hands in the town of Norwall.  Naji had seen his wife Hannah cover herself with the blanket everyday as she rocked in the wooden rocker by the fire, but that had ended two years ago when she perished in a factory explosion.

     Several days after she died, he found himself inviting the tiny vagabond upstairs for supper, and it had become a nightly ritual for them both. Naji had fashioned Hannah’s blanket into a pallet for the scruffy twelve-pound dog with silver- tan colored ears, which everyone noticed were long, and silky. It was the most comfortable bed Pebbly had ever known.

     Opening one eye slowly, she shivered. The fire had gone out sometime in the early morning hours. They used as little wood as possible to conserve the amount they were rationed, and they hoarded it for use in cold weather. She didn’t know if she woke up because of the cold, or because her inner clockwork reminded her that it was time to get ready for work.  She was due at the Octagon Bakery in less than an hour.

Pebbly stretched her body, raised her rump in the air, and stretched out her spine which was still sore from the long day yesterday.  The life of a working pup in Norwall!  She sneezed twice from the dust, and for the first time noticed the almost invisible light film that covered the cheap wooden furniture. The dust could barely be seen, but it covered every surface in the little walk-up apartment.  She had been smelling the dirty, musty, stinky dust outside for a while, but now it was meandering into the small efficiency apartment above the tailor shop.

     She stood and put her front paws on the seat of the recliner, where the finest tailor in town still slept fitfully. He had stopped sleeping in his bed when the breathing became too difficult; sitting half-way up in the recliner helped him rest easier. Occasionally, she heard him grunt, stop breathing for a few seconds, then take a gasp and blubber a breath.  She did not need to wake him.  Let him sleep, it’s only five in the morning and he doesn’t open the shop till eight o’clock.  She gave him a quick licky-lick on his hand, careful not to wake him.

     Slurping some water, she found a few old scraps in her food bowl.  Naji had retrieved it from a discard pile at the weekly auction, where townspeople could bid on unwanted items from the Council. The white porcelain bowl had a chip out of one edge, but it had the most lovely lilac blossoms scattered around the periphery of the bowl, and a gold rim accent. “A bowl fit for a princess,” he had said. And, sure enough, he carefully washed it each morning, and fed her each evening, whatever food he could scrounge. The ration program barely allowed him enough for himself, but Pebbly would sneak out three-day old bread from the bakery to supplement their fare whenever she could, knowing full well the penalty if she got caught. Sometimes the rolls weren’t too hard, and they moistened it with soup to make a welcome feast.

     Pebbly nosed into her vest, which was hanging from the arm of Hannah’s rocker. She carefully slid into it and pushed a small round disc embedded into the coat against the leg spindle of the rocker.  As if by magic, the gears began to turn, clockwork style, and in an instant the little vest was fastened just ever so carefully around the scruffy.  The vest was not too loose, nor too tight.  From the other arm of the chair hung a small black velvet derby, sporting a fine black net veil which partially covered the front.  

     The only other ornamentation on the derby was a deep violet ribbon band, and a solitary deep rose-violet flower, just like the one on Hannah’s favorite black hat, which still hung on a hook by the door. There remained also her oatmeal-colored shawl, as if she was coming home any minute. Pebbly nosed the hat onto her head, making sure it was at the proper angle for a lady.  She took one last slurp of water, glanced at the somnolent Naji, and silently crept down the stairs to the miniature oval aperture which was her private entrance. The flap snapped closed behind her, and she stepped out into the quiet chaos of the awakening city.

     The sidewalks were stained with mildew and mold, and the cobblestone streets a light dusty rose-gold. They, despite the runs of street steamers every other day, were stained grey. The three suns were just starting to rise. She thought it odd that they were aligned in a perfect triangle, which she had never seen before. This was the most beautiful time of day in Norwall.  The pink streaks of the sky were spectacular, radiating out from the triangular design of the three suns and lighting up the sky with streaks of beautiful rose-pink and grey. The rows and rows of  close three story wood and brick buildings lining each side of the cobblestone streets were almost a luminous pink-violet shade in the morning sun. Unless one looked closely, one wouldn’t notice that most of these row-houses had been hastily abandoned, their residents located in group habitrons near the factories. But, that was after the Council took control of the city.  Before the council took over two years ago, everyday was beautiful in Norwall.

     She inhaled a deep breath, but the air had a musty smell. She wrinkled her nose; the acid smell burning her sensitive nostrils. She wished the grey had never come. The factories with their steam engines produced soot that had been increasingly dark, and increasingly ominous. The Automatons, which patrolled the cities and factories at the behest of the Council, weren’t affected. But, all the plants that had once adorned the city were dehydrated and dying from the lack of rain. The humans, like Naji Najeem, were increasingly sick as their lungs became fibrotic and scarred.  The buildings, so beautiful in the morning-pink sky were darkening with soot as the years passed.

Stretching her short white legs, she trotted half of a city block. Passing her, pulling a wooden and metal wagon loaded with cords of firewood, was a giant snail; a copper colored metal snail, tall as a one-story house, with a small steam engine powering the vehicle.  A middle-aged, angry looking man in a black waistcoat, derby and goggles perched precariously on a wooden bench seat. His long, pointed nose gave him a bird-like appearance.  He harbored a sour expression, and frowned as he used chubby hands to manipulate a toggle stick to stear the puffing and snorting vehicle.

     On the corner of the street, tall, broad and gleaming, sat a six-foot tin and brass-colored box, covered in gears of all metals and sizes.  She had to squint to see the detail, but as she slowed her gait and got closer, she recognized it for what it was; an Automaton. Her activity triggered its attention and the large brass and copper gears on his back started to spin against each other, grinding softly, spinning and whirring. The mechanical man started to move in jerky, stop-gap motion. A brass colored front panel slid open to reveal a sinister face, with gleaming turquoise eyes.  Pointed teeth protruded from each corner of the frowning mouth, and the head snapped from side to side, scanning its surroundings.

     Two arms flew up in a defensive mode, and the machine’s all-directional wheels started towards her. It aimed a cogwheel arm directly at her face, and relayed her demographics back to Council Headquarters via its internal radiosystem. She was validated  as a worker, with credentials permitting her to navigate the streets at such an early hour.  Steam puffed from a short, stainless tube at the back of its head, three short, hot, smokey puffs.

     Stinking Automats, she thought as she picked up the pace. The robot’s viscious facies came into sharp focus the closer she got. Brass gears spun wildly but silently on its back, and if a robot face could scowl, it certainly would be called a scowl. It marched a cadence down the grey, mildew-stained sidewalk bordering the cobblestone street. Menacing gear arms pointed out from both arms, threatening to shoot vaporizing steam on any non-authorized living thing.   

     Scooting past its base, Pebbly kept her head down and broke into a silent, speedy run. Her ears flew straight back, but the derby never lost its place. She knew the way and galloped joyously. Free! She was free! After all, she had not attained the position of chief delivery dog for nothing. It had been a long, hard climb up the ladder, with scores of fast, on-time deliveries to prove her worth. Her speed was unsurpassed, and she knew every nook and cranny of Norwall. There was no address she could not find, no factory where she did not know of secret doors where the managers could receive rations. 

     Gleena Glisson, the proprietress of the Octagon had, only for Pebbly, overlooked the requirement that all the delivery dogs sleep together in Habitron Quarters.   

     I’m the fastest and I’m the best, and I know my way ‘round every nook in this Clockwork town, so just look the other way Gleena,  as long as I show up in the mornin’ ready to run, and I mean speedy run, stay out’a  me business! I’m keepin’ my nose down, and I don’t make the stinkin’ Automats mad by trying to scoot ‘tween their legs, stinkin’ Automats!  OK, go, go, and……………………. GO!!!

Huffing and puffing now, the tiny dog galloped so fast that she was a black and silver blur. Still, the derby on her head remained perfectly angled just the way she had placed it. The clock on the tower, boasting gears of every metallic color, rang six times, as the gears spun wildly but silently. The ringing of the clock was loud and deafening, so that the entire town seemed to vibrate like the lowest string on a cello, each tone lasting for only a few seconds.

     In the distance, tall, shiny columns, satiny steel, as shiny as kitchen pans in the bakery reflected the fading rose-pink of the sky. The trifecta suns gleamed, and the stainless towers sparkled, even as the grey fog rose from the factories, obliterating the crisp, fresh sky.

The bakery took up three city blocks itself, and the Habitron where the human workers lived, another two blocks. As Pebbly rounded the corner, Gleena appeared like a ghostly apparition dressed in all white.  A spotless oxford-cloth apron extended to the ground from a loop that always hung around Gleena’s neck. The apron was already, at this early hour, littered with flour. A tall baker's hat was perched, a little bit sideways of course, over her kinky grey hair. Her arms were out and bent akimbo, with fists resting on her hips. Knowing what was coming, Pebbly steeled herself.

“Pebbly!  Ya ’cannae’ just run in here any ol’e time ye please!  Orders ready to go out, hot rolls and cinnies comin offa’ da line!  Hurry a’fore the icin’ gets runny!  Why’re you not sleepin’ in the Habitrons?  I knows ye’s sneaking off to spend time with Naji Najeem ain’t cha?”

     Gleena cut her eyes at the tiny dog. She shook a wooden rolling pin in the air for emphasis, and Pebbly galloped all the faster, ears flying straight out behind her.  Ignoring the admonition, she saw a hint of a smile on Gleena’s face as she brushed by her legs, slowing a bit through the bricked archway.  As she made her way into the bakery proper, Pebbly was nearly blinded by the reflecting shiny steel and the bright lights overhead. The massive bowls were already turning on stainless and copper gears, and the hissing of the steam machines prohibiting conversation. The walls were light red brick and extended upwards 20 feet. Above that, extending to the dome ceiling, were stainless steel panels. The entire room had the shape of a huge Octagon.

     The glass dome ceiling which used to admit the daylight, now gave the workers a glimpse of the ever-dismal grey sky. The exhausted, pitiful workers finishing the night shift were dressed in stained white pants and formless white  tunics. They were covered in flour and dried dough, and they smelled sour and sweaty from hours and hours of work. But, they smiled and glanced at each other and grinned as the tiny scruffy flew past their legs. They smiled at each other as they saw the black derby fly past the front of the workline. Her freedom was something they were not given, and the twelve hour night shifts were difficult. They knew that when they saw Pebbly come it was almost time to end the shift; for clocks, despite the clockwork town, were not permitted in the factories. Contraband such as a pocket watch was punishable by death.  But they could always rely on Pebbly and her expert sense of time.  They said among themselves, You kinn set a watch by’er!

     Flying through brick tunnelways and arches, the tiny dog made her way through the bowels of the factory, turn right, turn right, turn left, one more turn to the left. Screeching to a halt in a massive octagon shaped room of white tiles, she quickly found cubicle twenty-two. A small unused square of soft, white, towel lay on the floor; a similar pallet in each of the 33 cubicles served as a bed for each dog. In other cubicles, dogs of varying breeds were slipping into their geared vests. None however, was entitled to sport the velvet black derby with the rose-violet flower, awarded only to the fastest and the best delivery dog of the bunch, the Chief Delivery Dog.

     Pebbly arrived dressed, so she backed into the small wooden red wagon that was parked in her cubicle,   numbered twenty-two, and snapped the hooks on her vest into the gear assembly on the wagon. Taking a quick drink from the common fountain, annoyed that there was no kibble left in the trough, she trotted out of the cubicle, out of the room with its high octagon ceiling, and took her place in the line just outside the open triple doors to await the loading of her first delivery.  

     Automatons stood watch as fresh, hot baked goods in crisp white paper bags were readied for each dog’s wagon.  Cog-wheel armature raised, scowling metal faces, they watched for any irregularity in distributing the food. Appropriation of rationed food was dealt with harshly. Automatons were given the right by the council to steam extinguish on sight any living thing that was interfering with assignment of the bakery rations. 

     While steam wagons delivered rations not only to the Council, but also to the factories for distribution to the workers, the Council permitted business owners and managers of the factories to order food-by-tokens.  Wooden chips entitled the owner to directly purchase items from the factories and stores, and it was the delivery dogs that made this interchange possible.

     Nose raised to the sky, Pebbly took one last sniff of the morning air.  The grey fog settled in, as the pretty pink streaks of the morning sky disappeared. The air, even now more acidic, burned her tiny nostrils and made her coat smelly.   She shook her skscoat and ears in place and steeled herself. There wouldn’t be another break for a very long time.  Her workday had begun.