1878 - 1923
The business of Messrs. Abernathy & Finch was, ostensibly, the measurement of time. Not in the grand, scientific sense, of course. Their instruments – a collection of intricately crafted brass chronometers, meticulously calibrated pendulums, and a disconcerting number of pocket watches – were employed to quantify the precise duration of… well, everything. The ripening of plums, the flutter of a butterfly's wing, the melancholic sigh of a particularly disgruntled clerk. Their clients were a strange assortment: eccentric botanists charting the flowering cycles of rare orchids, anxious merchants attempting to establish predictable shipping schedules, and, most frequently, the Widow Periwinkle, who insisted on knowing the exact moment her prize-winning begonias began to droop.
The core of their operation resided within a small, perpetually dusty office located at 42 Grimalkin Lane. The air within was thick with the scent of oiled brass, beeswax, and a faint, unsettling aroma that some described as "chronometric residue" – a phenomenon attributed to the constant manipulation of temporal energies, though Mr. Abernathy vehemently denied any such thing, blaming it simply on the accumulated dust. He was a man of rigid habits, meticulously documenting each measurement in a series of leather-bound journals filled with precise, almost obsessive, notation. Mr. Finch, on the other hand, possessed a disconcerting habit of staring intently at the chronometers, muttering to himself in a language no one could quite decipher.
| Date | Subject | Duration (Seconds) | Notes |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1882-03-17 | Ripening of a ‘Crimson King’ Plum | 72.3 | “Anomalous acceleration observed. Possible influence of lunar phase.” – Finch |
| 1885-07-29 | Flight of a *Papilio cyaneus* | 68.9 | “The temporal signature was… fractured. As if the butterfly briefly existed in two moments simultaneously.” – Abernathy |
| 1891-11-05 | The Sigh of Mr. Silas Blackwood | 47.1 | “The duration correlated precisely with the intensity of his disappointment regarding the failure of his latest investment.” – Finch |
| 1898-05-12 | Flowering of an *Epipogium aphyllum* | 91.7 | “Significant deviation. Suspect external interference. Recommend increased shielding.” – Abernathy |
| 1903-09-21 | The Rustle of a Silk Scarf | 35.8 | “A subtle distortion detected. Investigating potential entanglement with the timeline of the Victorian textile industry.” – Finch |
1919
Abernathy's meticulous work started to unravel in 1919. The measurements, once so precise, became increasingly erratic. Pendulums swung with impossible speed, chronometers spun wildly, and Finch began to speak in fragmented sentences, referencing events that hadn't yet happened. The records became filled with repeated entries, looping sequences of data, and disturbing sketches of swirling temporal currents. One journal entry, dated 1919-07-14, simply read: “The moment has returned. It is always the moment.”
Rumors began to circulate – whispers of a dangerous experiment, of tampering with the very fabric of time. It was suggested that Finch had accidentally created a localized temporal anomaly, a pocket of distorted time that threatened to consume them all. Abernathy, in a desperate attempt to regain control, devised a complex series of counter-measures, involving a network of synchronized chronometers and a bizarre ritual involving powdered lapis lazuli and the recitation of archaic nautical verses. The results, predictably, were chaotic.